Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 77016 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77016 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Her parents separated? I didn’t see that coming. Steve and Maggie seem devoted to each other. Of course, I’ve known them for all of a few hours.
“Where did he go?” I ask.
She sighs. “I don’t know. They never talked about it. I have my suspicions, of course. He was probably having an affair.”
“But you don’t know for sure.”
“Why else would a husband leave and a wife cry all the time?”
“Have you asked your mom?”
“Yeah. I asked both of them. All they say is it’s in the past and it’s nothing for me to worry about.”
“When was the last time you asked?”
She wrinkles her forehead. “The year I started high school, I think. They had a big fight about… I can’t even remember what. My dad stormed out, and I relived that day when my dad had left before. I asked my mom about it, and again she just said everything was fine and I didn’t need to worry.”
“And you haven’t asked since then?”
“Nope. Why continue asking when they won’t tell me?”
“That doesn’t sound like the Skye I know.”
She cocks her head. I can almost see the cogs working in her brain. She knows I’m right. It’s not like her, and she’s asking herself why she stopped.
A moment later, “Your turn.”
I chuckle. “I kept you going for longer than I thought I would.”
“Your turn,” she says again.
“All right. My father set our house on fire when he was drunk once. My mother…”
Fuck. That all just came out. I’m not sure I’m ready to talk about this.
“What? What about your mother?”
I can’t stop now. “She was badly burned.”
Skye gasps. “Oh my God. Did she…”
“No, she didn’t die. Not at that time, anyway.”
“Your father… He didn’t…do it on purpose, did he?”
Why would she think that? I have my own issues with my father, but I never believed the fire was anything other than an unfortunate mistake.
I shake my head. “It was an accident. A drunken accident. But insurance wouldn’t pay because they called it arson, and my father couldn’t prove he hadn’t set the fire on purpose, so he lost the house. Then my mother’s medical bills were so outrageous…”
“And that’s how you ended up going to the food pantry.”
I nod. “My mother always wore a scarf over her face to hide the scarring.”
She stops at a red light. “How did you ever forgive your father?”
I turn toward her. “What makes you think I have?”
Chapter Twelve
“He works for you,” she says. “I just assumed—”
“He got sober. He’s smart. He works hard. He’s my father. I wouldn’t exist if not for him. So I let him ride on my coattails, and he’s good at his job. Doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven him.”
“And Ben?”
I chuckle. “Your turn.”
“Braden…”
“Nope. Your turn.” I won’t let her get away with not following the rules. She opens up, and then I open up. Quid pro quo.
She turns onto the main road, and the small town comes into view. “Welcome to Liberty. Don’t blink or you’ll miss it.”
Nice pivot, but I keep that to myself.
“It’s charming,” I say.
“It has a bit of charm,” she agrees, “but the charm goes to shit when you’re looking for a good cup of coffee and all that’s available is Mrs. Temper’s black water at the Sunrise Café.”
I chuckle.
And it occurs to me how much I’ve laughed since I got to this bumfuck town and met her parents. Part of me likes it here. Feels something here.
She drives to the tiny hotel. “Only four rooms. You were lucky to get one.”
“Are they usually booked?”
“I was being sarcastic, Braden. No one comes here.” She pulls into an open spot on the street. “Here you go.”
“Want to come up?”
“Don’t you think my father will notice if I don’t come straight home?”
“I’m not asking you to have sex, Skye. I’m just asking…” I sigh. “Hell, I don’t have a fucking clue what I’m asking.”
“Aren’t they expecting you in New York?” she asks.
“They are. But they’ll wait. Not like they have a choice.”
“I suppose not.”
I grab the car door handle but hold onto it, not opening the passenger door. “Skye…”
“Yes?”
“I can’t stop thinking about you.”
“I can’t stop thinking about you, either.”
“At the dinner table, watching you… God, I want you so much.”
I’m anguished. Not unnerved—or perplexed—but truly anguished. It’s unlike me. I turned off those emotions long ago for my own sanity.
“Braden, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.”
That’s a lie, and we both know it.
“Thank you,” she says.
“For what?”
“For telling me about your mother. It means a lot to me.”
“Oh, Skye… In the grand scheme of things, I’ve told you nothing.”
I don’t grab her or try to kiss her.
I’m in a weird headspace. I told her things I don’t let myself think about often. Hell, hardly ever. In the short time I’ve known Skye, I’ve had to face things that I’ve let lie dormant a long time.