Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79547 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79547 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
I keep Alex in my bedroom to prevent him from seeing the indignity of Mom having to be lifted from her bed and carried out of her room. We stay until they’re gone, Ignacio taking care of whatever questions they may have. I didn’t want to see her face shrouded and hidden. It’s not a memory I can live with. If she’d been allowed to stay in the hospital, all of this could’ve been avoided. It could’ve been easier. I don’t know what it’s like to lose someone in that type of setting, but witnessing it at home is brutal. That room will now always carry that final image of her.
“Are you hungry?” I ask Alex, his body cuddled to mine on my bed.
He shakes his head, and I know he’s utterly drained as well.
And because life likes to keep cutting away pieces of me, I hear a growl from the living room before a knock hits my bedroom door. It swings open before I can call out.
Ignacio’s face appears in the crack.
“Why don’t you guys pack an overnight bag.”
“What’s going on?” Alex says, his body suddenly tense.
“I umm—” His eyes dart to mine, and I see the need to protect his son as best he can as if the instinct is innate because he hasn’t been around since the beginning. “Your uncle is going to stay here tonight. He’s not feeling well, and I just think it’s best that we give him a little space.”
Translation—Cooper is drunk or high, and as always he’s belligerent and it’s not safe to be here with him.
“I think that’s a great idea,” I say, leaning up and urging Alex to stand. “A little time out of the house would be good for both of us.”
“I’m not a baby,” Alex hisses, his eyes darting between his dad and me. “You can say my asshole uncle is being an asshole and will continue to be an asshole if we stay.”
Well then.
“Watch your mouth,” I say but there’s no fire in my tone. I look up at Ignacio. “Stay with him while he packs.”
He nods, following Alex out of the room. I shove different things into an overnight bag, not really paying attention to what goes inside. I’m too nervous that we won’t make it out of the house before Cooper decides he has something to say.
It takes mere minutes before we’re walking out of the house, and I don’t even bother to look in my brother’s direction when I pass. Thankfully, his attention is on something in the kitchen. I get into my car, Alex already buckled in and ready to go and the damn thing won’t start.
A sob, one I didn’t know I had left in me escapes, my body wracked with tremors and exhaustion. I just sit there and fucking cry.
Chapter 19
Ignacio
She didn’t want me to touch her earlier, and I let it slide, but seeing her lose her shit because her piece of shit car won’t start is the final straw.
I tug open her door and crouch low so we’re on the same level. It’s as if she doesn’t even notice when I cup her cheek, angling her face so I’m in her line of sight.
“Tin,” I whisper, hoping the sobs will slow so she can hear me. They don’t and I look over at Alex. “Hey, buddy. Can you grab yours and your mother’s bags and toss them in my truck?”
He nods, his face crestfallen at the sight of his strong mother finally breaking.
“Sweetheart,” I whisper again, trying to get her attention. “Look at me.”
She doesn’t. Her eyes are glazed, and it’s clear she’s on the brink of breaking down even further. I grab her keys from the ignition and scoop her up into my arms. She doesn’t cuddle into me like I hoped she would, but she also doesn’t struggle to get away. I count that as a win as I carry her to my truck and position her in the passenger seat.
“Seatbelt,” I tell Alex as he watches from the extended cab seat.
He nods, working to get his clipped in as I do the same for his mother. Her sobs have quieted, but the tears seem to have doubled. If Cooper wasn’t in the house drunk off his unstable ass, I’d take a few minutes to make sure she’s truly okay, but their safety is the most important thing right now.
When we hit the highway, I drive north, putting the shitty neighborhood in the rearview.
“We aren’t going to your house?” Alex asks from the back seat ten minutes into the drive.
“No,” I answer, simply because I can’t tell him that the house I’ve been staying in isn’t suitable for the two of them. They deserve the world, and I don’t want my son to experience a single night in the same house that holds so much trauma from my own childhood.