Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 115619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
She would still rather live with him than be with me. I’ve been through brutal fistfights that didn’t leave me aching the way that piece of truth does. There’s a pain in my chest, bitter and persistent. She wants nothing to do with me. It pisses me off, yet there’s nothing I can do to make her believe otherwise. I’ve called her a million times, texted her, and tried everything I could to explain the truth to her. Nothing is working. I wouldn’t have to go to such irrational lengths to see her if she would only just listen to what I needed to say.
God, she’s so stubborn and beautiful.
“Are you getting the feed?” Romero’s question stirs me out of my brooding, and just in time. I’m beginning to hate myself for it.
I pick up the tablet and scroll through the app connected to the device. “It's dark,” I groan. “How much fucking longer is this going to take? They could show up at any minute.”
“My hand was over the lens.” He pulls it away, and now the image on the screen is of a girl's bedroom. It’s about as big as my bedroom closet, decorated in pinks and creams. The walls are covered in posters of musicians I vaguely remember Tatum being interested in years ago. It would seem Charlie didn’t bother taking them down when Bianca moved out. I bet he wants to freeze her in time, the soft innocence of his daughter.
There's not much we can relate to, but I can understand his mindset. There are times I don't recognize the woman my daughter has become. There are still days when I expect a freckled ten-year-old to come running in from the pool, dripping water all over the kitchen floor while digging in the freezer for a popsicle.
“I don't like the angle. I want to see the bed.”
“I've already fixed the angle,” he informs me in a tight voice.
“Then change it. Fast.”
“You know…” The image jerks, giving me a clear shot of his scowling face. “This could all be cleared up much easier and much less illegally.”
Illegal. As if we've ever cared about that. “What, you suddenly have qualms about breaking and entering?”
“Breaking. Entering. Installing a camera in a girl's bedroom so you can spy on her. In the home of a detective, by the way, in case you forgot.”
“What's your big idea, genius? How would you handle a situation like this?”
“Well, there are many ways, though you could start by trying to talk to the girl. One-on-one.”
“Do me a favor and get the job done,” I bark into my phone. “I don't pay you to give advice unless I'm asking for it, and I didn't ask for it this time.” I did, just only after he started bitching. I have no idea what’s gotten into him lately—he usually reserves his opinion except in serious matters. Life-or-death shit.
The past few months have marked a turning point. I noticed it before now, when he had too strong an opinion on whether I should use Tatum as a bargaining chip with Jack Moroni. No matter how many times I swore I had no intention of marrying her off to Jack’s son, he wouldn’t let it go. When did he grow a conscience?
Romero sighs, smart enough to keep his mouth shut while aiming the tiny camera at Bianca’s slim bed.
Telling me to talk to her. As if I haven't tried. As if I haven't spent the past two days crawling out of my fucking skin trying to get a hold of her. Calling, texting, making a horse's ass out of myself by approaching my daughter and asking her to check in, to at least find out whether Bianca is alright, and to tell her how desperate I am to talk.
I have even stooped so low into making a fool of myself in front of my kid—anything, so long as Bianca will give me a chance to explain.
How my ex-wife is a diseased cunt who will stop at nothing to destroy every good thing in my life. How she's dragged her feet for years, refusing to give me a divorce until she gets what she believes is coming to her. My money, as much of it as she can get her hands on. As far as I'm concerned, she might as well not exist. If it weren't for the shit she's put me through, I would have gladly forgotten her name by now. She's never been a mother to our daughter. There's no reason for us to interact otherwise.
In my mind, I'm single. Unattached.
Since when does it matter what it says in the eyes of the law? I've never exactly given a shit about that. A glimpse in the rearview mirror reveals my troubled gaze. The dark circles under my eyes, thanks to sleepless nights spent longing for Bianca’s warmth and sweetness in my otherwise cold bed. “What’s the big deal?”