Maybe I should have kept my distance.
But I didn’t. I reached for his hand, and I enjoyed the feeling as our skin touched.
Chapter 6
Woodrow—present day
Ishot up in the bed, sheets pooling around my legs. The cotton covers stuck to my thighs.Thanks a lot, sweat.I was choking on air, my fingers clawing at the pain each painful gulp caused. My heavy breathing hurt my throat and my prodding didn’t help, either. My heavy-handedness softened, and I massaged away the pain with shaky fingers.
I looked over to the woman at my side. The diamond ring on her dainty finger told me she was a wife now.
She was frozen in position, through shame and embarrassment, her lips still open from her mumbling to herself while I slept. She faced nothing but fresh air, and she listened to the vacant presence as if it could respond.
“It’s nice. . . I love it, Woodrow. You always know how to make me feel better. I love that about you.”
Her eyes were red, her cheeks highlighted by tearstains. The light glow given by her new e-reader—with its light blaring up, as it rested on her stomach, screen facing the ceiling—showed me every detail of her face.
She was dressed in a white t-shirt that was definitely mine. As I fingered the material, she twisted her head to mine, hearing my internal questioning of her garment.
“I didn’t think you’d mind.” Her hands moved to the Kindle, her attention following behind. Her face didn’t hide the annoyance she felt, reminding me how she didn’t like her daydreams interrupted.
“I don’t. What are you reading?” I turned to her, facing her completely.
“I don’t remember the name. Something about a woman abducted while on holiday with her boyfriend.” She knew the title. She just had no interest in talking further with me. The tiredness creeping over her body hadn’t allowed her to notice that I’d woken up as someone else. . . as the person she’d asked for.
Too bad, because I wanted to talk. I needed it. I needed my mind off the nightmare that had ripped me from my peaceful sleep.
“How far into it are you?” I asked, my aching muscles twitching. I slowly blinked, once, twice, three times, four. . . and when I opened my eyes, I was a different person. . . again.
Woody
“Is it a good story or a scary one?” my high-pitched voice caused me pain.
“I’m over halfway. It’s not scary, but it’s. . . it’s something.” She lifted the e-reader back to her face. . . dismissing me and the conversation.
“I’m hurting, Jolie.” I was so hurt. Hurt, from my throat and the pain it continued to cause, and hurt from her lack of compassion for me.
Her eyes scanned the distance between us. I saw that as an invitation to move closer. My fingers touched her, embracing a loose hug as I lay back down, heart still racing, breaths still struggling to climb past the blockage in my throat.
I expected her to care. She always did before.
“Are you mad at me?” I whispered, trying to ignite a little sympathy. “I still don’t know what I did to make you hate me so much.”
My eyes looked up through long dark lashes, my head angled lower than hers. An offer of respect.
“I don’t know what you want from me. Why bring me here?We hate each other. Why force a marriage on me?”
“We can’t be married, silly! And I don’t hate you, I love you. You’re my favorite person ever! If I was going to marry anyone, I would want it to be you!” All my innocence came out in that very true statement, hand in hand, with all the love I genuinely felt.
I found my eyes glancing at my arm that was snuggly wrapped around her. My fingers lifted from her body, spreading in the air. The band of white gold on my ring finger suddenly felt heavier as I stared at its new place of residency.
I twirled my hand, eyes locked on the jewelry, with no memory of it being slid onto my finger.
“Are we really married?”
Her eyes squinted, taking in my words and expression. “Yes, Hell. You insisted.”
“I’m not him. I’m Woody. Don’t you remember me?” My voice heightened, words slipping through my lips in a squeak. “Is that why you don’t care?”
