Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 164459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 822(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 548(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 822(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 548(@300wpm)
My heart crumbled, the pieces stabbing me deep inside as I watched it all go down. It seemed like an out of body experience—one I couldn’t control or get a grip on.
The blood.
Her pale face.
Her fingers as they gradually slipped out of mine. I wanted to help. I wanted to step in and do something, but what more could I do that the trained professionals couldn’t?
I wasn’t a man that cried, but this was Grandma Marie, the woman who raised me to be smarter, safer, and just a little nicer.
She was the woman that gave me my second chance at life—saved me from Flex and his wrath.
She was the only person other than my mother that always put me first, and for a boy as terrible as I was, she did a terrific job raising me to be a decent one.
By the time we reached the hospital it was too late to revive her or do anything more.
It was over.
It was done.
The monitor beeped in a flat tone.
They noted her time of death and carried on as if nothing had happened, but I could only sit there.
Even when they carried her limp, lifeless body out of the ambulance and helped me out, I sat there.
On the curb, with a desolate, hollow feeling swimming in my veins. It swam and slithered in the deepest, darkest parts of me.
I was broken.
A shattered, fucked up mess.
My chest hurt so fucking bad. I couldn’t even cry because the pain was swallowing me whole. I didn’t know how to escape it, how to accept or cope with it.
I still wasn’t over Mom passing and now this? Grandma Marie?
What was this I was feeling? I had no idea whether to be angry or depressed as hell.
I couldn’t budge.
Oscar and Otto were by my side somehow, helping me up from the curb and letting me into their car. They took me home, encouraged me to go to bed, but I refused and sat on the sofa.
They stuck around on purpose, called into work for me to let them know we’d had a loss in the family.
They were saddened by what happened. She was like a grandma to them, but I don’t think they felt what I felt.
My guilt was eating me alive. She called me—I was her last call before she… died.
And I wasn’t even there to save her.
I wasn’t there to do anything.
I was with Jenny, the love of my life, but because of that I’d lost my caregiver, my protector, my scroll of daily wisdom. My only grandmother.
I wondered about so much, but what I really wondered was, if I’d been home, would she have survived just a little bit longer?
Would she have been okay?
Would she have made it long enough, at least to have a dinner with Jenny?
Was loving Jenny Roscoe and spending every waking moment with her worth losing a person that put her life on the line every single day for me?
Deep down, I didn’t know the answer to the last question.
And because I didn’t know, the guilt consumed me even more.
Chapter 20
Jenny
When Mom threatened to call the cops on Drake, I’d officially had enough of her. Our arguing became so heated that Dad woke up just to end it.
“That is enough!” he shouted when he walked into the kitchen. Mom looked at him as if he’d lost his mind, but I could only stare at her.
How could she do that to him? She didn’t even know Drake. She could have at least been nicer about it… but I knew her.
She was far from nice, and I was sure she really would have called the cops if I hadn’t stepped up for him. Drake wanted to say so much to her—I could tell, but he didn’t because he wanted to spare me the grief. She had no idea what he was capable of.
Come to think of it, neither did I.
“What the hell is going on? Why are you two arguing in the middle of the night?” Dad snapped.
I immediately told Dad everything, from how Drake had snuck through my window, to me sneaking him out. I backed it up by saying it was a mistake—that nothing happened—but he didn’t buy into it.
All he heard was there was a boy in his daughter’s room.
He looked at me with so much disbelief in his eyes, but he didn’t even flinch when I told him how Mom threatened to call the cops.
“Who is this boy?” Dad asked.
“He’s my boyfriend,” I stated.
“What is his name?”
“Drake Davenport.”
Dad grunted. “A Davenport? Jenny,” he hissed as he marched for me. “Have you completely lost your mind? Drake Davenport? I’ve heard about him. The fighter with the ignorant, no-good father. He used to set that boy up for fights when he was just a kid.” Dad’s head shook, and his wide brown eyes were full of disbelief. “Jenny, go to your room. I’m taking your car keys, as well as your laptop. I don’t want to see you again for the rest of the night.”