From Our First (Promise Me Book 4) by Carrie Ann Ryan

Author:Carrie Ann Ryan [Ryan, Carrie Ann]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Carrie Ann Ryan
Published: 2020-12-07T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter 11

Nate

I’d given her twelve hours, and I thought that was enough time. I knew from Macon that Myra wasn’t taking care of Joshua this morning, so I figured she should be home. If not, I would track her down, and we would talk. Because if we didn’t, I was afraid my head might fall right off my shoulders.

How the hell had we gone from trying to understand what had happened in our past to having sex in my fucking living room? It made no goddamn sense. Yes, I was attracted to her, but that didn’t mean I’d needed to bang her right there.

It was a mistake, a lack of judgment on both our parts. And we had to talk about it.

But, Jesus Christ, despite that, I wanted to do it again. And that was the problem—one of many. Being with Myra again was like a thousand moments in time wrapped up in a necessary breath. I hadn’t thought to be with her again. I had never allowed myself to believe that it would ever happen. It couldn’t. I’d hated her at one point. But I had been wrong. I hadn’t known the truth. And I knew that I couldn’t hate her. Ever.

I could only hate myself. But now we had slept together, and I didn’t know what to do about it. We needed to talk. Again. But I knew how well that had gone before.

I had told my family members to talk to their significant others when things got insane, that communication always had to be the most important thing. So, I would live up to what I told others, even if it felt like I was raking myself over hot coals. And I had yet to figure out exactly how to grovel the way I should.

I stood on Myra’s porch, not knowing if she was home for sure because her car could be in the garage. I knocked on the door and let out a breath, not knowing what to say, and hoping to hell that she was home, while also praying she wasn’t. This could be Schrodinger’s house. If no one ever came to the door, perhaps she was hiding from me, or not here at all.

Myra opened the door as I was having my existential crisis. She stared at me, her eyes a bit puffy, her lips swollen as if she had bitten them rather than having my mouth on hers like I wanted.

“I should have known you would be here this morning.”

I swallowed hard. “May I come in?”

“I suppose you should.” She took a step back, and I walked in, doing my best not to touch her or brush against her. Because if I did, I was afraid what I might do. It was hard to keep from touching her. I wanted to hold her close and pretend like our past hadn’t happened. That, somehow, we were moving beyond all the pain that had broken us. Only I knew that was a dream, and one I didn’t even want.

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