Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 97369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
His jean-clad legs.
The wheelchair.
His hands limp on the arms.
Black button-down.
Gray, unkempt hair along his awful face.
Beady eyes.
And the smell of cigar smoke.
My hand presses gently to my cheek. I’m not restrained. I’m on my old bed.
With a stab of pain to my head, I slowly roll to sitting, legs dangling off the side of the bed.
“Don’t worry, darlin’, Pauline has arranged for new clothes and anything else you need.”
“What…” I clear my scratchy, sore throat “…the fuck am I doing here? You can’t just kidnap me, you sick prick.”
“It’s time for you to be home again. Since you opted out of college or any reputable career, it’s best for you to be here with your family. And I have the perfect job for you.”
“Fuck—”
“Now, now, darlin’ … you’ll need to clean up your language since you’ll have an impressionable child in your care.”
“What are you talking about?” My fingers rub my temples.
“My grandson. Well,” he laughs, “he’s not technically my grandson. But since I won’t have my own grandchildren, I think of Benjamin as my grandson. He’s Pauline’s grandson.”
His words swirl around in my head, nothing more than mush. Then they take shape. They start to make sense. My heart tries to stop for a second. It’s like the whole world stops.
“Jolene won’t admit it, but the little guy looks like Milo.”
My head and face no longer hurt. The pain in my chest digging down to my fucking soul demands the most attention.
“Their nanny had a family emergency and needs time off. Jolene is beside herself, trying to find a replacement on such short notice. A highly sought-after attorney by day and super mom by night. I honestly don’t know how she does it. Anyway … she and Milo haven’t had the time alone they deserve.”
Scooting forward, I slide to my feet, taking a second to get my bearings. With heavy steps, I make my way to the window, pressing a hand to warm glass. “She would hate you for this,” I murmur.
“Who?”
“Ruthie.” I stare at the clouds. “If she sees you now, I promise she wants nothing more than for you to burn in Hell. You are truly deplorable.”
“That’s enough,” he says in a sharp tone.
“It’s not.” My voice holds no life while my hand slides down the glass. “If you keep me here, I will never stop. You’ll have to kill me.” I slowly turn. “I’m your blood.”
Fletcher’s jaw clenches, eyes narrowing into tiny slits.
“It’s not my fault.” I draw in a shaky breath, swallowing back my emotions. “You created me with another woman. That’s not my fault. You took me from her, a million-dollar price tag. That’s not my fault. Ruthie died. That’s not my fault.”
I will not cry. I will not cry.
Fletcher doesn’t deserve my tears. Not while he’s alive. And not when he dies.
“I know why I hate you. You’ve worked so hard to earn every ounce of it.” Again, I clench my teeth to keep it together. “But I don’t understand why you hate me.”
Fuck.
One tear slips out, and I bat it away.
Fletcher blinks and averts his gaze. I want to believe that he’s human, and that something I’ve said will resonate with him. I fear Ruthie took his soul with her when she died. Now, he’s empty.
No soul.
No heart.
No love.
Without another word or even a final acknowledging glance, he turns and wheels himself out of my room.
The first breath of silence hits, and the emotions flow freely.
Milo has a baby with Jolene.
32
I’M SORRY
MILO
“Just in time for dinner,” Jolene greets me as soon as I walk into the house.
She’s holding Benjamin, and she’s smiling. I don’t have the energy to ask her why she’s suddenly acting so motherly.
“The new nanny moved in today. She hasn’t met Benjamin yet, but she will join us for dinner.”
“Whatever.” I head toward the stairs, stepping around Fletcher’s stairlift.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m covered in dirt and manure. Where do you think I’m going?”
“Oh, well … here she is now,” Jolene says.
My gaze lifts to the top of the stairs when I’m halfway up them.
Fuck …
Indie stares at Jolene—at Benjamin. And it’s the most painful thing I’ve witnessed since Archer died.
I will end Fletcher Ellington if it’s the last act I perform before I die. The side of Indie’s face is bruised red with darker spots of pooled blood beneath the surface. Someone hit her hard.
That someone’s going to eat a bullet from my gun.
“Surprise,” Jolene says. “How wonderful is it that Indie’s filling in as our nanny until Leah comes back?”
I slowly finish climbing the stairs, stopping one step from the top, putting Indie close to eye level with me. Her dead eyes slide from Jolene and Benjamin to me.
My fingertips lift her hair so I can see the extent of her bruise. “Who did this to you?” I whisper.