Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 96284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
“Christ, I’m so goddamn annoyed.” He ran a frustrated hand through his dampening hair and looked out over the playground.
“Just annoyed?”
He huffed. “Annoyed at myself. For givin’ a fuck.”
That made all the damn sense. “One of the reasons I love you so much. But I get it. It’s always that way when your head and your heart say different things.”
“Mm.” He nodded once and put his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, that’s… That’s the problem. It’s been what, over twenty years since I stopped going with Ma to church. Step by step, I distanced myself from all their shit—except…”
Except the things he hadn’t even noticed until he’d gone to therapy.
The little everyday stuff Haley had brought up.
It was difficult to see the bruise next to the open wound, but those bruises added up over time.
“I don’t even fucking like them,” he said irritably. “I haven’t enjoyed comin’ here in years. I haven’t missed them. Every time I had to talk to them, I postponed it for as long as I could. I don’t have the picture-perfect childhood memories to cling to either. I got those from my grandparents on Dad’s side and Grandpa on Ma’s. The summers in Florida…? That’s what I go back to when I reminisce. I avoid everything linked to this goddamn neighborhood.”
I exhaled in relief at hearing him vent. Venting was good.
I leaned against the side of the car and just listened.
“I shouldn’t fuckin’ care.” He scuffed the toe of his shoe against the curb. At the tiny weed coming up between the cement blocks. My gardener. “And still, I hear her voice in my head—tellin’ me I’m destroying your family with Sandra…”
Fuck. “That’s why I came running. Haley called and told me what your ma was screaming.” I clenched and unclenched my fists, then opened the car door on his side and reached for my backpack. I needed a cigarette. “Wretched motherfuckin’ bitch,” I muttered under my breath and lit up my smoke. “Baby—I’mma let you get your shit out, of course—but… And I get it. I get why you’re hearing her voice. Just—” Fuck! Now I couldn’t even form words? “I hope you don’t actually believe her. Logically, I mean. In your head.” I tapped my temple and took a drag from the smoke.
What the fuck? Amusement flashed by in Jake’s expression, and it didn’t make a lick of sense.
“What’s funny?” I demanded.
“You. When you get all ranty and Brooklyn heated. Your accent comes out, and you speak with your hands.”
I scowled at him. “Can we focus?”
That just made him smile, and he came over to me and cupped my face. “No, I don’t logically believe a word she says, darlin’. I’m a little dented, but I’ll recover. It’ll sting a while—and I’m gonna use it to make sure Callie and Adam never have to feel like there’s anythin’ wrong with them. Okay?”
Christ, I’d never deflated faster. Every ounce of tension drained out of me, and I hugged him.
“Don’t burn me with your cancer stick.”
“Shit, sorry.” I withdrew my arms. I’d obviously not been close to burning him, but he wasn’t overly fond of my occasional frustration smoke.
He chuckled. “I’m kidding—Christ. Hug me, my sexy New Yorker.”
Yeah, in a sec. I took a drag, then put it out. He’d robbed me of the frustrations anyway.
We sighed at the same time when we were back in each other’s arms.
He tightened his hold on me and buried his face against my neck. “Thank you for comin’ with me today.”
I reached up and kissed his temple.
He let out a quiet chuckle. “I know exactly what they’re doin’ right now.”
“Your folks?”
He nodded and eased away. “Ma will cry to herself and cook. Maybe clean the kitchen. Then go to church. Dad will go out and tinker with the car. And that’s it.” He glanced at me. “They’ll probably never talk about this again. Their dinners will get a little quieter, they’ll have even less to talk about, and they’ll go on like that till they die.”
That was fucking tragic.
I touched his scruffy jaw. “Meanwhile, when we get home, we’ll take the kids over to Culver City and fill a picnic table with food from every corner of the world. Colin will inhale his chicken yassa and keep trying to convince us to let him do a documentary with us. Casper will agree because he agrees with everything Colin says.”
We were trying to protect Colin. The little punk. He so badly wanted to be on TV with Dad and Uncle Roe—and film wild animals. We wanted to keep their faces off social media a while longer, and he just wasn’t a fan of that logic. After all, “I’m on your Instagram sometimes!” But that wasn’t the same thing. We chose angles where the kids’ faces weren’t the center of everyone’s attention.