Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 114793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 574(@200wpm)___ 459(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 574(@200wpm)___ 459(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
The funny thing was, I’d always thought I was a little tougher than this. I’d always been the one who could take a hit and keep going, who made jokes in the middle of chaos to keep other people from falling apart. Now, the silence was so loud it made my chest ache.
And I missed him. God, I missed Webb.
At first, it'd been curiosity. The gauges in his ears, the tattoos, the way he always looked like he’d just stepped out of a brawl or a basement show—he was chaos and calm, wrapped in a man-shaped mystery. I’d even winced the first time I thought about getting a finger accidentally stuck in one of those ear gauges—how do those things even work? And had a barber ever caught a comb in them? My stylist caught the tiny hoop at the top of my own ear every time, so I couldn’t imagine trying to navigate clippers around those things.
But then, he'd smiled at me that first time, and I'd realized the sharp edges were only surface deep.
What caught me off guard wasn’t the way he looked—it was the way he saw me. It was like he could read the parts of me I didn’t even understand yet. There was a quiet strength about him, steady and grounding, but always with a flicker of mischief in his eyes. He could switch from deadly serious to disarmingly charming in a heartbeat. From the start, we'd had an effortless rapport—something rare for me, like winning a coin toss five times in a row.
I could have lived without him. I had before. But each time we crossed paths, I started to see him more. The way he really listened or how he leaned in when he teased me, like the joke wasn’t just for a laugh but a test.
When the nightmare started—when it all turned to hell—I could’ve gone anywhere. I could’ve called in favors, flown across the world, or thrown money at the problem. But I realized I'd gone to Marcus’s ranch because Sasha had mentioned Webb had been there recently, and my gut, my heart, whatever you want to call it, hoped he still was.
Deep down, I think I knew he’d protect me. Not just with fists or guns—but with that fierce, grounding energy that had pulled me toward him from day one.
At the police station, just before we were separated, he'd whispered that he loved me.
And now, I was sitting on a beach with no way to reach him, no way to hear his voice, no one to even say his name out loud to. The sun dipped lower behind the dunes, shadows growing long on the sand, and I pulled my knees up to my chest, letting the breeze mess with my hair as I closed my eyes.
He was still with me. Not in the way I wanted or the way I ached for—but in the way that meant something deeper. Some people come into your life like a spark. Webb was a burn that didn’t fade.
I scratched at the side of my calf and hissed at the raw, ticklish sensation. My leg and arm felt like they didn’t belong to me anymore. They were too light and too exposed after being trapped in plaster for weeks. The handyman who’d helped me cut them off had done a decent job, though. No blood or need for stitches and only a slightly nervous laugh when I’d looked at the saw in his hand and asked if he’d ever done this before.
He was one of those sun-browned, salt-soaked surfer types—young, charming, and always barefoot called Flynn. Apparently, he built custom boards when he wasn’t fixing leaky roofs or mending fences, and from the stories he told, it sounded like half the island had him on speed dial.
He’d offered to teach me how to shape a board some time, his smile bright enough to rival the sun. I’d smiled back and nodded, but the odds of me ever actually getting into the water were slim. Every time I looked at the ocean, I pictured a shark mistaking my newly healed leg for a snack. Or worse, catching a wave only to snap my arm again in some freak wipeout.
No thanks. I’d survived too much to go out in a cartoon death scene, and luck really wasn't on my side just now, so I wasn't taking any risks.
Instead, I’d focused on disguising myself. My hair was a little blonder than it used to be, streaked with caramel and honey highlights that made me look like I belonged somewhere coastal. I’d chopped some length off, too, and added soft layers around my face that moved in the breeze instead of clinging to my neck. The stylist had said I looked like a different person, especially with the new makeup techniques I'd learned online. Good, that was the point.