Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
“Zoe,” the woman said with a shaky smile, a plea in her eyes.
Guess everyone wanted something today.
“Ms. Shannon.” The man stepped forward with an outstretched hand. “I’m Richard Howell.”
Attorneys at Law. A mental picture of the envelope flashed before my eyes—the envelope I’d never finished opening.
Nixon’s jaw flexed. “Get. Out. You’re trespassing.”
“What can I do for you?” I asked the man, avoiding the woman’s beseeching stare as my brain gave me rapid-fire answers I didn’t want.
Nixon had lost his shit when he’d first seen Ashley. He’d denied knowing this woman even though he’d clearly met her. Same hair.
“Do you have a kid?” I asked Nixon, my eyes narrowing.
His flew wide. “No!”
Wide but honest.
“I’m his mother,” the woman blurted, earning my surprise.
“Stepmother,” Nixon corrected through gritted teeth.
What the hell?
“If we could just come in for a moment,” Richard addressed me, not Nixon.
“Over my dead body.” He moved to shut the door.
I stepped forward, blocking him.
“I represent his father,” Richard told me.
“His father is dead,” I retorted, only to be met with two very confused faces…and one very guilty one. My stomach did a dive roll and my cheeks heated. “His father isn’t dead, is he?” I asked Nixon’s stepmother.
“No.” She shook her head, her gaze darting between Nixon and me. “Please, Nixon. It’s been ten years—”
“I don’t know how you found me, but you’re not welcome, and the answer is no.” Wrath shone from his eyes as he moved, positioning himself slightly ahead of me.
Putting himself between us.
I stepped back into the house. If Nixon truly hated this woman that much, there was a good reason.
“It was the guitar strap,” she said softly.
“I’m sorry?” Now she had my attention.
“It said Zoe’s,” she replied. “All you have to do is google Nixon’s name with Zoe and Berkshire Management comes up. You’re his manager?”
This just reached a whole other level of creepy.
“Not exactly.”
“We ran a property search, and you came up in title with an LLC,” she explained. “So, we flew out immediately, just hoping you might listen.”
“I think you’d better go now.” I took Nixon’s wrist and tugged. I wanted answers, and I wanted them now. But I wanted those answers from him.
I tugged at Nixon’s wrist again, and this time, he came.
“I know you hate him, Nixon, but it was an accident!” she begged, moving forward.
“An accident? Like the time I accidentally hit myself in the face with the edge of the table?” Nixon sidestepped, putting himself between us again.
Holy shit. My heart stopped.
“Nix—”
“Or how about that time I accidentally broke my wrist falling off my bike? Or wait, shit, that was the nonexistent tree house, right? Isn’t that what you told the doctor?”
“He was drunk,” she said softly. “He’s been sober for—”
“He was sober when he blackened my eye at eleven, and again at twelve, and—”
“Enough!” she shrieked.
The nightmares. I sidestepped enough to see them both, bracing my hand on the rigid muscles of the small of his back.
“What happened to Kaylee—”
“You don’t get to say her name!” Nixon roared, and I flinched.
“It was an accident,” she repeated. “He’s waited ten years—”
“What do you want me to do, Cheryl? Want me to go visit him? Absolve him of his sins? Because that’s not going to happen. And it’s not like Washington State has a parole board, so at least I know he’ll do the time.”
“We actually managed to get a hearing with the Clemency and Pardons Board,” Richard said slowly. “It’s very rare, and it’s why we’re here.”
Nixon’s head snapped back like he’d been slapped, and silence filled the entryway for a handful of heartbeats.
“Nixon, please,” Cheryl begged. “He’s so sorry. You should talk to him. He’s changed. And if you would just speak at the hearing—”
“You have to be fucking kidding me. It will be a cold day in hell before you get me to speak for that son of a bitch. I hope he dies in there. And if you ever come near Zoe again, I’ll dedicate my life to ruining yours. Do you understand me? The only reason I haven’t is because I thought you were weak, not cruel, and we both paid the price for it. His price isn’t paid yet.” Nixon swept me behind his back, retreating into our house and slamming the door.
My heart galloped.
“If they’re still there in five minutes, call the sheriff.” Nixon threw the deadbolt and strode off, headed toward the living room.
“Nixon!” his stepmother screamed.
I glanced between the door and Nixon’s retreating back. Only one path guaranteed answers. Problem was, I didn’t want them from strangers—I wanted Nixon to tell me. Wanted him to let me in.
Steadying my heart with a deep breath, I followed Nixon into the living room where I found him pacing in front of the windows, tapping a message out on his phone.
“Let me guess, you want know what that was about.” He didn’t even look my direction as he finished and tucked the phone into his pocket.