Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 47381 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 237(@200wpm)___ 190(@250wpm)___ 158(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47381 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 237(@200wpm)___ 190(@250wpm)___ 158(@300wpm)
“Thanks.” Brand shut the door, then hurried into the bedroom to where Jolie was sitting up, waiting for him.
“What took so long?” she asked.
“I only took thirty seconds at the most,” he told her.
“I’m sure it was much, much longer. I was getting worried.”
“Sorry, baby.” He put the basket down on the bed and leaned in to kiss her forehead.
Fuck. He wished he could kiss her properly.
As soon as she was better.
“I didn’t mean to worry you,” he soothed. “I was talking to Derek.”
“He was here? What’s that?” She pointed to the basket.
“It’s something for you.”
She reached for it, but he lightly smacked her hands. “Uh-uh.”
“What? Why can’t I have it? It’s mine.”
“First, you need to use the toilet,” he told her.
“I don’t!”
He gave her a knowing look.
“Okay, maybe I do. But I can hold on.”
“Holding on isn’t good for you. Come along, baby.” He picked her up, settling her against his chest.
“But, Daddy!” She reached for the basket.
“Do you want me to put it away? I can bring it out later once you’ve remembered to listen to Daddy. Also, I think if you’re well enough to be naughty, then you’re well enough to spend some time in the corner.”
“What? Nooo, that’s just mean.”
He just waited.
“Sorry, Daddy. I will wait until after I use the toilet.”
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“It was really, really hard. That basket looks fun. Where did you get it?” She pestered him with questions as she used the toilet.
“It’s from Derek. Apparently, his girl and some of her friends heard you weren’t feeling well and put it together.”
She gaped at him as he drew her off the toilet and righted her clothing. After breakfast, he’d changed her into another onesie that he’d bought her. This one was bumblebee-themed too.
“They-they did that for me?” she asked.
He lifted her onto the counter so she faced him, then stepped between her legs.
“Why wouldn’t they do that, Bumblebee?” he asked in a soft voice.
“I don’t know. I don’t know them. They don’t… I mean, why would they do that?”
“Because they’re nice people? Who feel bad that you’re stuck in your room, sick, when it’s your holiday? Because you’re a good person who deserves for good things to happen?”
She stared at him in shock. As though she couldn’t understand what he was saying.
“Tell me you know you’re a good person who deserves good things to happen to her,” he pressed.
“Good things don’t happen to me, though. I mean, other than getting to tour with you and the others. I don’t… those sorts of things don’t happen to people like me.”
“What do you mean, people like you?”
She glanced away from him, and he didn’t like that one bit.
“Jolie?” he pressed.
“I’m tired. I want to go back to bed. I don’t feel well.”
“That’s eight.”
“What? Why?” That brought her eyes back to his.
“Because you just lied to me.” He cupped her face between his hands to prevent her from moving away again. “Tell me why you don’t deserve good things.”
“I don’t know! They just don’t happen to me, all right? I’m always doing the wrong thing and letting people down. Okay?”
“Not okay. I’ve never once seen you let anyone down. All I’ve seen is a person who works so hard she made herself ill.”
She bit her lip.
“Tell me,” he ordered.
“I don’t… I don’t deserve anything nice, though. Not when… not when I’m not a good person.”
“But you are.”
“I’m not! You don’t understand. It was my fault she died and I’m not a good person so good things shouldn’t happen to me.”
His heart stopped. What was she talking about? He suddenly became aware that they were having this talk in a bathroom. But if he tried to move her, she might clam up, and he had to know what she was talking about.
“What was your fault?” he whispered.
“My mom dying. I was being naughty. I wasn’t supposed to climb that tree without my dad watching me. I fell and broke my leg. My mom was rushing me to the hospital when she ran off the road. They think she hit a patch of ice. She… she died the next day.” A small sob escaped her, and his stomach dropped.
“Baby, no. How old were you?” he asked.
“Eight.”
Fuck. His poor girl. He drew her against him, rocking her back and forth as she sat on the counter.
“Who the fuck told you that it was your fault?” he demanded.
“My dad. He, uh, he didn’t cope that well with her death. He stopped going to work and started drinking. He’d tell me all the time how it was my fault she was gone. Then he’d start crying.”
“Like fuck it was your fault!” he snarled.
She leaned back, staring up at him in shock.
“That fucking bastard had no right to blame you! You were eight, for fuck’s sake.”
“But I—”
“No buts. I don’t want to hear any buts. There are no buts. You were a child. Children make mistakes, they break rules. Your mom had a car accident that wasn’t her fault. She died. Not your fault either. And your father spiralling like that was not your fault. Where is he? Your old man, where is he? I’m going to teach him a lesson.”