Page 26 of Distracted

Yes, a love story, because I was a romance editor.

Even though I hadn’t spent my time reading romance novels when I was younger, that was all I picked up now. As a teenager, through my high school years and during that first year of college, I’d devoured thriller after thriller. I used to love the way they made my mind work, and I often found myself completely mesmerized by the mindset of the characters—both the protagonists and the villains.

When it came to the writing that I did, I’d always enjoyed the world building that came along with the fantasy genre. I could have easily spent hours creating one world.

But that all came to a grinding halt eight years ago.

After I’d found myself in a position with no choice but to marry a man I wasn’t in love with for the sake of my family, everything changed.

I tried to keep those things, to keep something familiar, but I couldn’t. Not only did the creative well dry up, but the thrillers became unreadable. All too often, there was far too much darkness in them that I couldn’t manage to immerse myself in. Not when I was already living in my own personal hell.

So, I turned to something else, to something I was craving.

Love.

Romance novels gave me that. Throughout my remaining years at college, the only fictional books I could crack open were the ones that would give me happy endings.

Since I knew I’d never have one of my own, I found joy—and maybe a little sorrow—reading about fictional characters who did.

The story I’d just finished was one that had moved me profoundly. I hadn’t connected with a book so much like I had with this one. It was a story about a girl who’d not lived the easiest life, and she hadn’t believed she’d ever find love.

But then it happened.

And it was gorgeous.

It was everything I could have ever hoped for and wanted in my life. To feel love like that. To be cherished and treasured. To be more than just a pawn in someone’s awful scheme.

To be loved for just being me.

If I allowed myself to think too much about it, I’d feel an overwhelming sense of heartbreak. It was devastating to think that my life had been basically decided for me. Granted, I could have turned it all down. I could have said no.

But I knew where that would have left my family, and I couldn’t bear to see them all lose everything. I figured it was better for one of us to lose instead of all of us.

And while I didn’t regret my decision in that regard, I absolutely despised it for what it took away from me.

I’d never get that back. I’d never experience real romantic love. Because I was still married to a criminal, and there was no telling if, when, or how I’d ever get a divorce. For now, I simply needed to be grateful to be safe, alive, and away from him.

Everything else was secondary.

Technically, everything else was just a pipe dream.

But I wasn’t sure there was anything I wouldn’t have given for even just a glimpse of that. For just a touch, a taste, or a small tease. I’d settle for that. I’d accept that.

I’d settle for one single experience where I felt like I was genuinely adored.

I took in a deep breath, resolved myself to the fact that this was where I was now, and accept the truth of my reality, no matter how harsh it was.

Glancing at the top right-hand corner of my laptop, I noted the time and realized I needed to finish this up and send it back to my author. I had promised Hanna I’d join her for game night tonight, and I intended to fulfill that promise.

So, I got back to work, added a few additional notes to the manuscript, and sent it off to its rightful owner.

Afterward, I responded to a few emails, tweaked my schedule to fit better with the upcoming self-defense classes I was planning to take, and eventually closed the laptop for the night.

Ten minutes later, I was walking from my tiny house to the one where Hanna was hosting game night. I didn’t know what we’d be playing, but I honestly didn’t care. I was looking forward to having a night of fun.

Maybe someone would look at me and think what I was about to do was anything but fun, but then again, they likely wouldn’t understand what I’d lived through for the last eight years.

And the truth was, doing anything extreme at this point would have been foolish. Not only was it not really my thing to begin with, but it just wouldn’t have been a smart idea. I’d left the place I’d lived for years and came here. I wasn’t so foolish to think that Patrick didn’t care, and I was well aware of the fact that he was likely out looking for me now. I just hoped he had not a clue where to start his search.