Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 158872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 530(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 158872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 530(@300wpm)
I check the peephole. Maybe it’s some other unbalanced woman shrieking Griff’s name out in the hallway?
How would that be better?
Just answer the door!
A gasp catches in my throat as I peer through the tiny fish-eye lens. The haggard woman on the other side looks familiar but...maybe it’s the distortion of the peephole or the dirty glass making her look so...bedraggled.
I unchain the lock and open the door. Blinking, I force a smile and try not to show my shock at her disheveled appearance.
“Hi, Mrs. Royal. How’ve you been?”
Her hard, gaunt face takes on an unpleasant pinch as she stares at me. “What are you doing here, Molly?” As usual, she pronounces my name Mahllly, her harsh voice dripping with familiar disdain that I easily ignore.
Mrs. Royal has never liked me no matter how polite I am, how much I smile, or try to find the right things to say. All for Griff’s sake. Because she’s his mother. He’s such a good person, and she gave birth to him, so surely there must be some goodness lurking inside her too? Somewhere way deep down under her awful exterior.
“She’s here with me.” Griff steps up behind me, resting his hand on my hip—a reassuring touch announcing that he won’t let his mother bully or disrespect me. “What do you need, Mom?”
I blow out a relieved breath, thankful he’s rescued me so quickly.
She swings another annoyed glance over me, then focuses her glassy eyes on Griff. The stale scent of beer and something more chemical I can’t identify crawls up my nose. Griff wasn’t kidding about her condition. Death seems to loom over her shoulder.
“Are you going to let me in or not?” she snips.
Griff’s reluctance is clear in the way he hesitates to take a step back and open the door wider. He keeps his hand on my hip. “Come in.”
He closes the door behind her and shoots an apologetic look at me.
His mom moves slowly but still somehow seems to be in constant motion. She compulsively rubs her hands over her thighs while her gaze darts all over the apartment. Casing it for things to steal and sell?
That’s mean, Molly.
Finally, she perches on the edge of the couch. She bounces on the cushion a few times like she can’t sit still.
Griff narrows his eyes at her, then sits at the opposite end of the couch.
“Do you want something to drink, Mrs. Royal?” I ask, praying for an excuse to leave.
“Water. Thanks,” she answers without glancing my way.
Griff nods and mouths thank you to me.
“I’m going away for a bit…” Mrs. Royal murmurs as I turn toward the kitchen.
Bon voyage!
Stop it—that’s Griff’s mom.
But I can’t silence my mean thoughts. Tanya Royal royally sucks.
I take my sweet time putting away some of the extra groceries and supplies I brought over but hadn’t unpacked yet. Then, I find a glass, fill it with tap water, and return to the living room.
“You can help your mom out, right, baby boy?” Her sickly-sweet voice activates my gag reflex.
Griff flashes a pained frown at me, as if he wishes I’d stayed in the kitchen longer.
I hand the water to his mom, and she sets the glass on the floor, ignoring me.
You’re welcome.
Unsure of what to do next, I stand behind the couch, wringing my hands, awkward as a deer on the highway at midnight.
Griff leans back and shoves his hand in his pocket, then pulls out his tattered leather wallet. Hmmm…he definitely didn’t have his wallet on him a few minutes ago when I was in his lap. Did he grab it when I opened the door, knowing his mom was here to ask for money?
Discomfort rolls off of him in waves, but I don’t think he’s looking for my support or even my presence. Since Mrs. Royal hasn’t acknowledged me, it shouldn’t be rude to duck out of the room again. Skirting around the end of the couch, I dash toward the hallway. It’s a small, simple apartment. There aren’t many places to hide, so I choose Griff’s bedroom. It seems safer than hanging out in the kitchen.
Everything in his room is tidy. Sparsely furnished. A plain wooden chest of drawers leans against one wall. A framed photo of Remy, Griff, and me in my grandparents’ driveway sits in a leather tray on top of it. A watch, money clip, pile of quarters, and a bottle of cologne are also in the tray. I pick up the photo and smile. I clearly remember the day it was taken. Griff had just gotten his driver’s license. I’m sitting on the hood of my grandfather’s truck with Griff and Remy on either side of me. They’re grinning like fools, while I seem to be practicing some sullen pout Hayden probably told me would make me look more mature.