Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 77353 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77353 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Until Lizzie polishes off her last bite and daintily wipes her mouth with a cloth napkin. “How old are you, Frankie?”
“Twenty-one.”
“I’m four,” Maverick adds.
Lizzie fawns appropriately, pressing her hand to her chest. “My goodness, I thought you were at least five.”
My son smiles proudly. “And my favorite color is green. I like Spiderman and Paw Patrol, and my uncle says I’m as strong as the Hulk!”
“Goodness.” Mrs. Cartwright smiles. “Do you see your uncle often?”
“No.” Maverick’s sauce-covered lips turn down into a forlorn pout. “He’s on tour.”
“On tour?” Stella’s head tips to the side. “What kind of tour?”
“Yeah!” Mav bounces in his seat, his excitement nearly bubbling over. “He’s famous! What’s his band called again, Mama?”
Six sets of eyes watch me expectantly as I try to think of some way to change the subject. It’s not even that I think anyone here will follow Phin’s band—it’s just once people realize I’m related to someone famous, it tends to be all they want to talk about with me.
I love my brother, truly, with every ounce of my heart—but sometimes it feels good not to be in his shadow.
“Um.” I move what’s left of my lasagna around on my plate. “He’s the lead singer for My Darkest Hour.”
When no one reacts—outwardly at least—I allow myself to relax back into my chair.
“What about your dad?” Lizzie asks. “Do you see him often?”
Her seemingly innocent question renders me immobile. My vision blurs and my heart pounds, my chest suddenly feeling too small to contain the jagged, battered organ. I need to inhale, to breathe, but I can’t seem to remember how.
“Frankie?” someone asks, but it’s like I’m inside of a bubble and everything around me is muffled…distorted.
I know I need to open up more about Tyson, to talk to Maverick about his dad, but it—it hurts. And God, I know that makes me so selfish, but the thought of Mav hurting the way I do—it’s unbearable.
But then my son speaks. “He’s dead.” And with those two softly spoken words, my bubble pops, and everything comes rushing back.
My lungs ache as I heave in air. I went from unable to breathe to choking on every inhale. It feels like my entire chest is on fire. It feels like I’m losing him all over again.
“Excuse me.” I push my chair back from the table and take off toward the front door.
The sound of another chair moving over the floor is the last thing I hear before escaping to the porch and curling into a ball in the first chair I find—an oversized rocker.
Moments later, the front door opens again, but I keep my face buried in my knees, my tears staining my dark jeans.
“Frankie,” Orion murmurs, but I don’t look his way. I’m sure he thinks I’m nuts. His whole family probably does.
At the very least, they must think I’m a horrible mother. “Maverick! I just—”
Orion scoops me up into his arms and sits, arranging me on his lap. “He’s fine. Stella took him to see her favorite climbing tree. It’s where she met Samson.”
“I just left him. I got up and ran and left my son.”
“Baby, no.” Orion strokes his hand up and down my back in a soothing motion. “You didn’t leave him. You needed a minute to gather yourself, and he was in good hands. We would never let anything happen to him. You know that, right?”
I nod, because I do, but the knowledge doesn’t ease the guilt gnawing away at my heart.
All I want is for Maverick to have a good life—for him to be happy, healthy, and loved, but I seem to keep screwing things up at every turn.
Maybe my parents are right about me after all…
“Right about what?” Orion asks, and my cheeks burn because I definitely did not mean to say that out loud. “Talk to me.”
“When I got pregnant with Mav, they tried getting me to give him up for adoption, and maybe—”
“No!” Orion cuts me off, his voice harder than I’ve ever heard it. “Absolutely not.”
“But—”
“Frankie, baby.” He cups my cheeks and tips my face up toward his. “I need you to listen to me, okay? To really listen.”
I nod.
“You are an amazing mother. You put that kid first in everything you do. Your love for him might as well be a flashing neon sign. Anyone who’s spent more than a minute with the two of you knows how much you care about your son. Do not, for even one fucking second, doubt yourself when it comes to Mav, okay?”
Big, fat tears roll down my cheeks as I stare up at him, unable to speak.
“Okay?” he asks again, and this time, I nod.
“I want to hear your words. I need to know that you understand me, that you understand and believe that you’re a great mom.”
“I-I hear you.” I sniffle and then let out a shaky exhale.