Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 85365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
“It’s just a little chocolate bar," I told her, just like a little devil on the shoulder would whisper. I had no moral compass and told myself the owners of the store wouldn't go bankrupt because of such petty theft. I was doing her a favor, teaching her to push back a little.
“You’ll feel so powerful once you get away with it,” I told her. “Do it.”
And she bloody well did it, but she didn’t stop at the bar of chocolate. She came out of the store, eyes bright and cheeks flushed, both pockets stuffed with goodies, giggling like mad.
But it wasn’t enough. She wanted more.
That's the trouble with breaking the law. One time isn't enough.
That's the problem with thrill seeking. Once isn't enough.
We moved on to the jewelry store, and that was a lot harder to get away with. We did, though.
Islan always disapproved. In fact, when I look back on it, I bet she was the one that ratted us out.
Because one day our fun came to a screeching halt. One day we were caught. Fucking red-handed. Paisley, anyway. I squeaked by.
The store owner said that he’d give her one opportunity to call her parents herself, or he'd call the police. She nodded, and she's not stupid. She knew her parents would have her head. So she called Tate.
“They’ll never believe he’s your dad,” I whispered, rolling my eyes at her.
She shrugged. “I’ll tell them he's my legal guardian, and my parents are on holiday.”
But honest to God, when Tate showed up? I would have fucking believed he was her father. Hell, I think he was maybe harder on her than her dad would've been. He was all flashing eyes and growly voice, as he ordered us into the back of the car. He took the scenic route home, brought me all the way back to the Cowen Clan home himself, just so he could lecture the three of us.
He told her he was disappointed in her, that she was better than that, that we all were. He told her she never should've lowered herself to committing such a petty crime, that the only excuse for theft was dire need, and she didn't have a good reason. But now that she’d been caught stealing, she'd be in the police records, and people would know who she was. We found out later that wasn't true, but it sure as hell scared us at the time. He definitely knew how to strike the fear of God in us.
And I, being the weirdo that I am, fell a little bit in love with him that day.
I wanted an older brother who’d care enough about me to lecture the hell out of me.
Crazy, isn’t it?
Over the years, I managed to convince myself that I really was crazy, and I couldn't crush on any of their brothers. It wouldn't work at all. And over the years, I got to know who they really were. And maybe in my mind they were a little larger than life. Maybe in my mind… they kind of were superheroes.
Maybe in my mind they still are.
I tried to find my own happily ever after. I dated, lots. But I was never attracted to anyone, not really. Not until Fergus.
My friends told me to be careful, that I really didn't know him, that an online relationship couldn't be all that it was cracked up to be. But I said that they were liars. I said they didn't really know who he was. I told myself I did. Why would he come all this way, all the way from Wales, just to be with me? Just to marry me? It didn't make any sense unless it was for real love.
He listened to me. Really, truly listened to me. Or at least I thought he did. And yeah, of course there were warning signs, and I really should've listened to them. The way he sometimes criticized my habits, or the things that I wore. The way he told me that I'd be really attractive when I lost twenty pounds, but that he knew that I could do it, and that he'd be patient while I tried.
I wish that I'd had enough self-worth to see the warning signs for what they were. But I didn't.
I wanted the dream. The white dress, the church full of people, the little house with a white picket fence and the wee bairns at my ankles. One or two, maybe even a little dog. Just something normal. And I even told myself that if my dreams were small enough, that I had nothing to be embarrassed about. I told myself if my dreams were small, that I could make them happen. I told myself that if my dreams were small, I deserved them.
I should've listened. I should've listened to anyone who had a modicum of self-respect and an ounce of logic. But I didn't.