Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 75633 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75633 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
For once, that's how I want to stay while I try to think. Sort out whether the cover of night will do us any favors.
Mia sips her cocoa and mumbles to herself. Guilt throbs in my veins. I can't keep her cooped up in this truck forever, especially if we're staying for one more night. I need time to think, to look the town over, to raise my morale.
What the hell do I do? Sitting here through dusk isn't doing us any favors.
Turning, I reach for my little girl's hand, pinching her fingers. “How about a drive? Break up the monotony.”
“Seattle, daddy?” Her eyes go big.
I smile and a numb half-laugh slips out. It's the first time in forever, so long I've forgotten the sound in my throat. “Nah, that'll be a few more days.” If we decide to head to Alaska at all, it'll be through Washington. “I mean for tonight, before we turn in.”
Honeybee nods, more than a little disappointed. It turns the wrench in my guts harder. I hope the place I have in mind doesn't bring back too many bad memories, and make this even worse.
I'm eerily calm approaching the Kelley residence. Mia drifts off before we're even there, blissfully ignorant to the pain that starts ripping through me once I'm on Sadie's street.
It's after eight o'clock. The house is weirdly dark, barely lit. There's no sign of Jackson's truck – the only thing that really matters.
I switch off the lights and wait. I count five minutes, trying not to rip off the steering wheel.
This is where I lost her. The woman I wasn't supposed to love, much less marry. She, who taught me I could live in the present, without being shackled to ghosts who haven't shut up since my fist crashed into Jackson's face.
Cinnamon hair and mischief lips. Promises I wasn't meant to break. Heart and fucking soul.
Red, beautiful Red.
God damn it.
I step out of the truck and close the door lightly, hand tucked in my pocket. Every step crunching through the snow is deafening. It doesn't slow me down.
I make it to her doorstep, slide the envelope into the screen, and beat it. It was risky coming here, riskier still to stay.
If all goes well, she'll find my note tomorrow.
She'll have till noon to make her choice. If she buys my explanation, finds it in herself to forgive, and realizes I'm not a total monster, then maybe I won't leave my ruined soul behind.
Maybe, we'll have a chance.
13
Guide the Way (Sadie)
I can't sleep. I tell myself it's normal, the same thing since Jackson went berserk. But if I'm being honest, deep down, the sandman abandoned me the day I lost Marshal.
I'm awake after four listless hours, anxious as ever. It's barely past nine. I shower, dress, and head downstairs, just in time for the day's main event.
“Mom?” I freeze, one-step into the living room, staring at my mother like she's a phantom.
She turns slowly, dad eyeing her anxiously. “Nice to see you, dear. It's good to be home.”
I go running. For once in my life, I throw myself at my mother, wrap my arms around her, and she hugs me back just as hard.
I'm sure dad hasn't briefed her on the latest drama, or the fact that they'll be grandparents in eight months and counting. Too much, too soon, after weeks of intense psychotherapy. His eyes are warnings when they land on me, understanding, but begging me to take it easy.
“How are you? How was it?” Two questions down, and only ninety-eight more to go. It seems like an eternity since she's been away.
My mother sits up straight, little sign of her unruly fidgeting. “It was...dreadful, really. What else would you call being committed?”
“Steph,” dad whispers, rubbing her arm. He's trying so hard not to upset her, fearful something might trigger a relapse any second.
This is a trial run. If she can't hack it here, or backslides, then she could be away for months.
“Mom, you're okay.” I need her to be. Because I don't know what okay means anymore.
“Someday. For now, I'm just better. The pills help stop the urge to scream and tear our lovely home apart.” She looks at me and smiles. I'm thankful treatment hasn't broken her very blunt spirit. “And what about you, dear? Still babysitting for our friend?”
My smile fades. Dad's hand slides completely off her arm, his face going pale. I don't know what to say.
“Peter?” Mom looks from me to him, bewildered.
“Nothing, nothing. I just really need some coffee. Care for a cup, anybody?” He heads into the kitchen, aiming a desperate look my way. Don't say anything, his eyes say.
Mom turns back to me, a glint in her eye, leaning in. “So, you're toying with me. What's going on? Where's Marshal and that precious little girl?”