Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 85089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Dad dabbed at the cut on his forehead with his fingers and nodded almost to himself. “I have to admit, this isn’t what I expected.”
“Whether Oisin accepts or not, I’m married to your daughter. The ceremony is only a formality.”
“I’ll see what he says.”
Roman stood. “Convince him. There’s power in being my father-in-law.”
That did it.
Before, Dad wasn’t convinced—I could still see the doubt. Even if he tried to hide it, I knew him well enough to peer beyond the mask.
But that changed his mind. Now Dad leaned forward, an almost eager smile on his lips.
“I should say congratulations then. My daughter made something of herself after all.”
Roman took my arm and helped me to my feet. He turned me and pushed me toward the door. I took several steps then looked back.
Roman loomed over my father.
“If you speak to her like that again, I will kill you, and it will bring me great pleasure to do so.”
He turned away, rage etched into every inch of his body. He took my hand and pulled me out of that pub.
Dad’s curious smile lingered after me as we stepped back out onto the sidewalk.
We approached the bike. Roman got on and held my helmet out.
I took it, but didn’t put it on.
Seeing Dad broke something in me. It was like I was that girl again, the ruined, barely alive girl, at rock bottom with no future in sight. I hated feeling like that and wanted to go back in there and scream in my father’s face.
Instead, I met Roman’s uncertain frown.
“Take me somewhere we can talk.”
He nodded slowly. “We can walk around Central Park.”
“I want you to know what happened to me.” I reached out and took his hand. I hadn’t told anyone about the incident since that day in the hospital and I never wanted to speak it out loud ever again—until I watched Roman slam that glass into my father’s face.
Roman was the only person in this world that would ever stand up for me. It was startling, how quickly he acted, how ruthlessly and violent.
And now I wanted to give him this piece of me.
One secret for one secret.
“Get on,” he said.
I pulled the helmet on over my head and climbed onto the back. I wrapped my arms around my husband and felt the engine roar to life. I pulled myself tighter against him as he pulled into traffic and rolled back toward home, and my stomach twisted into knots.
22
Cassie
Three Years Earlier
I blasted “Despacito” as I rolled down the quiet Boston streets. It was late, a little past ten on a Wednesday, and the hard-drinking crowds weren’t out. I was exhausted, running a little ragged, my head filled with math equations from the college course I was taking at night to get extra credits before I started at Boston University in the fall.
It was deep summer. Crisp in the evening, humid during the day. I pretended to sing along, putting my Spanish to the test—and mostly failing.
I felt good.
Things at home were decent. Dad had been out a lot, putting in long hours at wherever he did his business, which suited me fine. He was always on my case when he was home, bugging me about grades and friends and my future, and no matter how hard I worked myself, how raw and burnt-out I felt, it was never enough for my old man.
Tonight, I wouldn’t let it bother me. Class was going well, even if it was a lot of work, and I was making new friends. I planned on hanging out with a nice girl name Lorrie and a couple guys this weekend, in theory to do homework together, but I doubted we’d get much done in a packed bar on a Saturday night.
I rolled up to a stop sign, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel. Life was looking up. I’d leave for college soon and then I’d be out of my dad’s reach—he wouldn’t be able to obsess over every little thing I did. I had insisted on living in the dorms, and although that’d been a big fight, he eventually gave in.
I was going to have a life. I could be a normal person for once.
Someone tapped on my window.
I jumped and reached for the volume. I turned the music down and stared at a smiling man—dark eyes, dark hair, pale skin, early thirties at most, a little scruffy looking, his beat-up denim jacket and tight jeans artfully torn, but otherwise harmless. I was in a quiet neighborhood not far from home, and although nobody else was around, I felt safe enough to roll down the window.
“Excuse me, I’m so sorry to bother you,” the guy said. He smelled like cigarettes and cheap alcohol. “I know it’s creepy to just knock on your window, but I could really use some help.”