Saving Forever (The Ever Trilogy: Book 3) by Wilder Jasinda

Author:Wilder, Jasinda [Wilder, Jasinda]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Jasinda Wilder
Published: 2014-02-14T05:00:00+00:00

northward

I woke up alone in bed. His side was cold. Pale yellow sunlight streamed in through the open window, the weak remnants of a late winter’s afternoon. Without sitting up, I glanced through the open doorway, catching a glimpse of Cade. He was at the kitchen table yet again, wearing a pair of gym shorts, his sketchpad open in front of him, pencil case to one side, a bottle of Jameson and a tumbler on the other. The glass was empty, and the bottle was a third gone. It had been full the day before, brand new, a gift to him from his supervisor at UPS.

He was leaning forward, his elbows on the table, head in his hands. Fists clenched in his hair. His posture was one of utter agony, pure defeat. His breathing was slow, as if he had to convince himself to drag in each breath.

I hurt for him. I wanted to take away his pain. I wanted to share it with him.

But cowardly me…I was afraid of the pain, afraid that it meant pain for me, too. I could endure pain if it meant helping the man I loved. I could endure pain if it meant he and I were together. But if the pain was sourced in a wedge between us, then I wasn’t sure I could withstand it.

I watched him from my place in our bed. I watched, and I worried.

Long minutes passed, and he didn’t move except to breathe. He wasn’t a heavy drinker, my Cade. But this man, the broken ghost who sat in my kitchen, poured another half-glass of golden whiskey, liquid the color of his eyes swirling in the glass, and he knocked it back, hissed, finished it, and slammed the glass down on the table. Then did it again.

Unable to take it anymore, I slid out of bed, padded still naked into the living room. I didn’t speak, didn’t ask him what was wrong. I stood beside him, leaned against him, waited until he reached for the bottle once more. He poured, and I grabbed the glass from him. Swallowed the contents in three burning gulps. Coughed, my wrist to my mouth. His arm snaked around my hips and held me. I held the glass out to him, and he went to take it from me, but I shook my head. “Again,” I rasped, my throat still raw from the first shot.

He hesitated, then poured once more, while I held the tumbler. I sipped it more slowly this time, exploring the burn, the smoky fire of it, the way it made my throat convulse and shudder as I swallowed.

“If I asked, would you tell me?” I said to him, setting the glass down.

His fingers scratched at my hip, dug into the crease where leg met hip. “I don’t know.”

“Do I want to know?”

He shook his head. “No. You don’t.” Cade reached for the bottle but missed, and his hand flopped to the table. “Fuck, I’m drunk.”

I put the cap on the bottle, pushed it away from him.

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