The Things We Leave Unfinished by Yarros, Rebecca (phonics reading books .txt) 📕

tell you that he’s finished the book. Both endings. If you don’t believe me, call Helen like I did. Call his editor. Hell, call the mailroom clerk. Everyone knows it’s done, just waiting for you to pick an ending.” She turned her attention to Noah. “You’re a piece of work, Noah Harrison. At least I only wanted money. Damian wanted access to Scarlett’s rights. What did you want?” She walked past us, pausing to pick up the bag I hadn’t noticed was already packed by the office door. “Oh, and you should send your editor a nice bottle of scotch, because that man is a guard dog. No one’s seen it but him.” She picked up her bag and walked out of the office.

The front door closed a few seconds later.

“Georgia.” Noah’s voice held an edge of something I hadn’t heard there before—desperation.

Mom had called Helen. Helen wouldn’t lie. She had no reason to, nothing to gain from it. Gravity shifted beneath my feet, but I managed to walk to the window before I faced Noah, putting nowhere near enough distance between us if it was true.

“Is it true?” I wrapped my arms around my waist and stared at the man I’d foolishly allowed myself to fall in love with.

“I can explain.” He put the shirt box on the desk and stepped forward once, but something in my eyes must have warned him off, because he didn’t move any closer.

“Did you finish writing the book?” My voice weakened.

The muscle in his jaw ticked once. Twice. “Yes.”

I heard it in the back of my mind—the gasp, the gurgle, the love that had consumed me less than an hour ago twisting, contorting into something ugly and poisonous.

“Georgia, this isn’t what you think.” His eyes begged me to listen, but I wasn’t done asking the questions.

“When?”

He muttered a curse, lacing his fingers on top of his head.

“When did you finish the book, Noah?” I snapped, grasping onto the anger to keep from drowning in the tide of agony rising in my soul.

“The beginning of December.”

My eyes flared. Six weeks. He’d been lying to me for six entire weeks. What else had he lied about? Did he have a girlfriend back in New York? Did he ever really love me? Or was it all a lie?

“I know this looks bad—”

“Get out.” There was no emotion in my words, no feeling left in my body.

“You had just told me that you wanted us to be a fling, and I was already in love with you. I couldn’t walk away. It was wrong, and I’m sorry. I just needed enough time—”

“To what? Screw with my emotions? Is that what gets you off?” I shook my head.

“No! I’m in love with you! I knew if we had enough time, you’d fall for me, too.” He dropped his arms.

“You love me.”

“You know I do.”

“You don’t lie and manipulate someone into loving you, Noah. That’s not how love works!”

“All I did was give us the time we needed.”

“What happened to I never break my word?” I tossed back.

“I haven’t! Is the draft done? Yes. But the book isn’t finished. I’ve been in here every day, editing both versions, giving us as much time as possible before you have to choose one of the endings. Before you cut us off at the knees because you’re scared.”

“You lied. Apparently my caution was warranted. Take your laptop and your lies and go. I’ll mail whatever else you left, just get away from me.” I’d made the mistake of holding on to Damian after that first lie, and he sucked eight years of my life away as a thank-you. Never again.

“Georgia—” He came toward me, reaching.

“Go!” The demand was a guttural plea that scraped my throat raw.

His hand fell away, and his eyes slid shut.

One heartbeat passed. Then two. By the time he opened his eyes, a full dozen had passed, just enough to let me know this moment wouldn’t kill me. That I’d keep breathing despite the pain.

He saw it, too, nodding slowly as our gazes locked. “Okay. I’ll go. But you can’t stop me from loving you. Yes, I fucked up, but everything I said to you is the truth.”

“Semantics,” I whispered, searching deep for the ice I’d grown in my veins during my marriage, but Noah had taken it all, thawed every last shard and left me defenseless.

He flinched. A breath later, he backed away slowly, rounding the opposite side of the desk and opening one of the drawers. His movements were jerky as he put one binder-clipped packet of paper on the left of the manuscript, and the other on the right.

The endings had been in the desk the whole time. I’d never even thought to look or question him.

He picked up his laptop and walked around the desk, pausing at the chairs to look my way. He had no right to the agony in his eyes, not when he’d lied his way into my heart.

“They’re both there. Just let me know which ending you pick. I’ll honor your choice.”

I hugged myself a little tighter, begging the cracks in my soul to hold it together for one more moment. I could break when he was gone, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of watching me crumble.

“Some things you have to fight for, Georgia. You can’t just walk away and leave it unfinished when it gets too complicated. If I could fly off and fight the Nazis to win your love, I would. But all I’ve got to battle with are your demons, and they’re kicking my ass. Keep that in mind while you’re reading those endings, the good and the…poignant. The epic, rare love story in this room isn’t Scarlett and Jameson. It’s you and me.”

One long, yearning look later, he was gone.

I shattered.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

May 1942

Ipswich, England

Scarlett clung to Jameson, her nails raking down his back as he moved within her with sure, deep strokes. There was nothing in the world that compared to the feel of his