Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83394 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83394 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
“Would you have?” Mouse asked. “Maybe it doesn’t make sense, but there has always been something special between the two of you, something…unreal in a lot of ways. I’ve never seen anything like it. Would you have moved on and been happy without him?”
I couldn’t answer. We both knew I wouldn’t have.
“I wanted better for him.”
“I know,” Romeo replied.
“School?”
“Lost his scholarship. Failed out.”
“Fuck.” I shoved to my feet, walked over to the window and looked out. A man was playing with his son, teaching him to ride a bike, both of them laughing and cheering. That was what I’d wanted for him.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Mouse said.
“It sure as hell feels that way.”
We were quiet as I stood there watching people live a life Jojo and I were supposed to have—the life Mouse and Romeo did have.
“Sometimes I thought I hated him. I was locked up or fucked up, and he was out here, living his life, dating and going to school and sharing with someone else the things he was supposed to share with me. Other times, thinking of him doing that was all that got me through the day. It really is what I wanted for him. I thought if he was happy, then everything would have been worth it…but he wasn’t. And I made it worse by cutting off contact.”
“Don’t do that,” Romeo said. “It couldn’t have been any easier for you. When will you see you really do try and be a hero, Gage? You went to prison. You tried to get Joey to move on without you. You tried to save him by sacrificing yourself, and it didn’t go as planned. The universe or whatever the fuck is out there screwed you both. Neither of you is happy. Neither of you lived the life you deserved, but there’s nothing you can do about the past. The real question is, how do you plan on moving forward?”
A car pulled into the driveway, and I used that as an excuse not to answer. “I think your friend is here with Olivia.” Excitement I hadn’t felt in what seemed like a hundred years burned through me.
“Come on.” Mouse took my hand and led me outside. She spoke to her friend, and then she and Romeo brought Olivia over. “Olivia Gage, meet your uncle.”
Gage…they’d given her my name?
“Gage, meet your niece. We always wanted to make sure she knew about her two uncles—Joey and Gage.”
“Hi, Olivia.” I took her into my arms, loved her instantly. She wrapped her hand around my finger, and I knew I would do anything to keep her in my life.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Joey
As soon as I heard the knock on the door, I knew it was Angie. There was something unique about the way she knocked. Or maybe it was just that I knew her so well. Whatever the reason, I also was positive she wouldn’t go away until I let her in, so I got off the couch, wincing, and opened the door.
“Oh, Joey. What did you do?”
It was my second fight in just a few days. I’d never done that, never needed that.
I had a split lip and eyebrow, and bruises on my chin and torso. I plucked a T-shirt off my couch, pulled it on. “I certainly didn’t do this to myself.” I was lucky I had the weekend off and Monday the garage was closed.
“Yes, you did. You went looking for it again, so it’s the same damn thing.” She sighed. “Sit down.”
I did as told. There wasn’t much of anything I wouldn’t do for her.
She clanked around in my kitchen. The couch was positioned so my back was to her, and I couldn’t see what she was doing. A few minutes later I heard the sound of the coffeepot. Angie made her way down the hallway next, to the bathroom, and came back with alcohol and cleaning pads.
“I cleaned it.”
“Good for you. I’m doing it again.”
She sat beside me on the couch. I was quiet while she cleaned me up, a dull sting every time she added alcohol to my small injuries. I was lucky, really, because they could have been worse.
“Why do you do this?”
I collapsed against the back of the couch. “You wouldn’t understand.” If I told her I wanted to be strong, to be able to defend myself, to not be someone others thought they could take advantage of, she would feel sorry for me. I didn’t want her pity. But even I knew that wasn’t the full truth because this wasn’t about defending myself. I did it when I wanted to take the real pain away, or at least distract myself from it. Emotional pain was unbearable, and physical pain offered a small reprieve. Those weren’t words I could say to her, though.
“Try me.”
“Because it’s who I am.”