Total pages in book: 225
Estimated words: 218500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1093(@200wpm)___ 874(@250wpm)___ 728(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 218500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1093(@200wpm)___ 874(@250wpm)___ 728(@300wpm)
“Good point,” Derek says with a sheepish grin.
I want to crawl into a hole and die.
She gives me a quick hug. Dad gives me more of a bear hug. And I want to sink into it and never get out of it. But I reluctantly let go, unable to stop myself from getting a little misty-eyed, feeling overwhelmed with emotion.
“I’ll talk to you guys soon,” I say.
“Congratulations, Chloe. Derek,” Mom says.
“Thanks, Mrs. Turner. I mean Pam. Please do your best to just ignore any online gossip. My family’s PR team is all over this. Our legal team will be, too, if needed. It’ll settle down, not to worry, but if you need anything, here’s my card.” He passes Dad a business card. “Good to meet you both.”
He must have slipped that in his pocket before we came in.
Dad accepts it and then opens his arms toward me.
“One more,” Dad declares, his voice a little gruff.
I step into another hug. “Congratulations, kiddo. Coulda knocked me over with a feather, but as long as you’re happy, that’s all we want.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
Derek shakes my father’s hand and kisses my mother’s cheek.
Mom’s eyes hit mine and widen and then she hesitantly smiles.
I force a smile and give another little wave before I walk down the driveway.
Derek opens the door for me and then helps me in.
I wait until we’re off my parents’ street before I look at him and mutter, “Wow. Could you have laid it on any thicker?”
“Got a few points across,” he says with a shrug. “They’re a little… formal with you, aren’t they? Though your father loosened up toward the end.”
I say nothing. He’s got a lot of room to talk when his family is so dysfunctional.
“Then again, they don’t know me. Anyway, I’m fuckin’ starvin’. What’s good around here?”
Flabbergasted, unsure what to even say about all that, I decide to focus on my stomach, too. I managed a couple mouthfuls of breakfast this morning but couldn’t get much down, stressed about the day. Turned out the day was even more stressful than I’d bargained for.
“It’s Monday night and it’s almost ten. Not much open other than maybe a couple drive thrus.”
“Okay, co-pilot. Get me to somewhere with a greasy burger then.”
I direct him through town and we wind up at McDonald’s. We’re waiting for them to bring the food to the car as they need to cook the McNuggets.
“I promise you a much better wedding feast when we have the second ceremony, little bunny.” He caresses my face with his fingertips.
“Please don’t subject me to a second ceremony,” I grumble.
“You don’t want another day in that beautiful dress? With Alannah at your side? Your father walking you to me?”
“To you?” I mutter, then scoff. “I didn’t want to walk to you today; you really think I want to go through that again?”
“Ouch. Not nice.”
“Whatever.”
“Fuck, you looked beautiful today. I’ll never forget it, Chloe.”
The employee brings the food and saves me from having to reply.
Derek passes me my Big Mac and my fries. He puts the twenty-pack of nuggets between us, saying, “To share,” and digs into his double quarter pounder.
“You’re back to your old self,” I muse, reaching for a French fry.
He sips his Coke.
Things go quiet as we eat under a parking lot lamp. I turn the radio on, self-conscious about the potential sound of my chewing.
I’ve got a mouth full of Big Mac when Derek casually says, “My mother tried to kill herself when I was a kid. I found her in a bathtub, unconscious.”
My head turns in his direction, and I grab a napkin and put it to my mouth.
“When I saw you were underwater, not moving, it took me a while to shake it off. Turns out you needing me to act in a crisis snapped me out of it.”
He takes a chicken nugget and pops it into his mouth, then fiddles with the station taking it from news to Smokey Robinson’s Cruisin’ before he turns his attention back to working on his burger.
He sips his Coke again and asks, “Mind if I start driving back now or you want to finish first?”
I finish chewing and wash it all down with a sip of my root beer. “I can eat while you drive,” I say.
He steals one of my fries and then turns the vehicle on.
Derek has endured a whole lot of early life trauma, hasn’t he? Finding his mother unconscious in a tub. Kidnapped and held for ransom? Living in that highly dysfunctional family environment while dealing with those things?
I abandon half my burger but finish my drink. The food is sitting in my gut like a rock.
I make the mistake of trying to distract myself by pulling out my phone. The number of notifications is staggering. Text messages. Social media tags. Missed calls. I start with the text messages, going back to first thing this morning.