Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 88263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Grandmother snorts. “No, never. She’s selfish with her life now. Hides things from the rest of us.”
“Because you gossip about me like I’m a Kardashian.”
“What’s a Kardashian?” The old woman winks at me. “Jamila thinks she is more interesting than she really is.”
“Grandmother.” Jamila groans. “That’s not true.”
“Truth is, my lovely granddaughter, you need to settle down. Life is so much better with a partner and a family. This world is hard enough, why make it even harder trying to do things all alone? Find a man that makes you happy. Or a girl, whatever you’re into.”
Jamila laughs, tutting at her grandmother, and I lean back to study their dynamic. I can’t help but think the old woman’s aiming some of her little speech toward me, like she knows I’m pregnant and I’m on the fence about whether I want the child’s husband to be involved.
But after an hour or so, we finish our tea and say goodbye. “Leave the donuts with me,” Grandmother says, rubbing her hands together. “And don’t tell my sons and daughters you brought them.”
“I won’t.” Jamila kisses her cheek. “I’ll come back again in a few days, okay?”
“Please do, dear.”
I give her grandmother a quick hug. “It was very nice meeting you.”
“And you as well. I wish you the best of luck with your Crowley problem. We all know how difficult that family can be.”
We leave, heading down the stoop together, walking arm in arm. Jamila doesn’t talk for a while, and I’m content with the silence. It’s a nice day, the sun is shining, the breeze is blowing, and I want to pretend like I’m a normal person again out for a stroll with my best friend.
But that can’t last, of course.
“Why do you think he was there?” Jamila sounds distant, like she barely knows I’m still standing next to her.
“I’m not sure,” I admit. “But it has to do with me.”
“He can’t think talking to my grandmother fixes anything.” Her expression darkens. “She’s an old woman. If she were younger, had more energy, she would’ve thrown him out on his face.”
“She seemed like she can handle herself.”
“Doesn’t matter. What was he thinking, strolling in there? What did he hope to accomplish? It’s not like my family could rebuke him, not considering the business relationship we have with their organization. If he expected absolution, he should’ve gone to a church.”
I chew on my lip for a moment but shake my head. “I don’t think that’s what he was looking for.”
Jamila pulls her arm away from mine. “What was it then?”
“He’s not ashamed of what he did.” Jamila’s face tenses into anger, and I talk faster. “I don’t think he would’ve gone there to apologize. But maybe he wanted to make your grandmother understand that he wasn’t the same man he is today back then. He was young, taking orders—”
“Are you defending him now?” Jamila puts space between us.
“I’m not sure what I’m doing,” I say, almost pleading with her. “Just trying to make sense of him. That’s all.”
“There’s no sense to make. Nolan Crowley’s a bloodthirsty asshole. All he cares about is money and power, and he’ll take everything you have if you let him.”
“Jamila—”
“No, don’t. It’s fine, you don’t have to explain.” She doesn’t look at me as she picks up her pace.
I let her walk ahead. It hurts, but I can tell this is still painful. She grew up thinking Nolan was this vicious killer, and maybe that’s what he used to be, but that’s not the Nolan I’ve gotten to know.
My Nolan is loving, tender. Bossy and aggressive, yes, but also caring. He wants to please me, not just in the bedroom, but everywhere. Maybe the man I’ve been afraid of is a man he’s been trying to leave behind.
Seeing him walk out of that old woman’s house has me reeling and rethinking everything. Maybe I’ve been too hard on him. Maybe I’ve been too rash, too quick to run way.
If I want a future, all I need to do is talk to him.
Chapter 41
Nolan
My hands ache from hours of manual work. Roger wasn’t sure what to do with me when I first showed up at Keely’s shop, but soon I was hammering, sawing, screwing, drilling, basically doing whatever needed doing. For a few hours, I was just another guy, sweating and cursing with the rest of them, listening to the radio, doing good work.
It feels right. Simple, honest effort, and in the end I can see the fruit of my labors right there, etched into Keely’s walls, into her floor. “Go home,” I tell Roger a few minutes past five. “I’m going to finish painting then I’ll head out.”
“Can’t leave you alone in here, boss.” Roger looks around, frowning. “Too exposed.”
“We’re not at war.” I wave him off, brandishing the paint roller. “It’s more likely I’ll kill myself with paint fumes than get shot.”