Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
He pulls me to him for a hug. I’ve never embraced this man in my life, but I cling to him as my world crumbles beneath my feet. As though he has the power to fix it.
Truth is, nobody can fix it.
When the pained sobs stop rattling from me, I find the strength to pull away and stare at my coach. His face is bright red and his cheeks are stained with tears. I imagine heartache is written just as plainly on my face as well.
“I need to go,” I rasp out, swiping at my tears with the heel of my palm.
His lips press into a firm line. “Take as long as you need, son.”
They’re dead.
They’re fucking dead.
I pull into the driveway at nearly one in the morning. Dad’s truck is in the driveway, but Mom’s is missing. Aunt Becky’s Lexus is parked behind Dad. I climb out on shaky legs and start toward the house.
I’m numb.
I don’t even really believe it.
A part of me hopes it’s one of Rylie’s stupid games. That I’ll walk inside and Dad will be asleep on the couch, snoring loudly. But when I walk through the front door into the house that smells like Mom’s snickerdoodle scented wax warmer, I don’t see Dad. I find Rylie’s head on Aunt Becky’s lap. Aunt Becky’s face is bright red from crying and her hair is disheveled.
It’s real.
Rylie’s eyes open and when she sees me, she bursts from the couch. I’m nearly knocked over by my little sister as she hugs me fiercely. I squeeze her tight against me, the emotion locked in my chest escaping with a ragged sob of my own. Together we cry at the loss of our parents.
Since Rylie was a toddler, she’s always been my annoying little sister. As she got older and started having issues, we drifted further apart. It seemed as though she was always trying to make life hard for Mom and Dad. While I was working my ass off to make things easier for them, she was upsetting them at every turn.
But none of that matters at the moment.
Right now, all we have left is each other.
Aunt Becky rises from the sofa and walks over to us. She hugs us, whispering assurances like, “Everything’s going to be okay, kids.”
Will it?
My heart sure doesn’t fucking feel like it.
“Is this a bad dream?” Rylie asks, tilting her head up. Her pale brown eyes are the exact replica of Dad’s. It makes my heart hurt to see them.
“No, Ry. I’m sorry.”
More tears roll down her cheeks and she buries her face against my chest. All I can do is hold my sister and hope Aunt Becky is right.
Rylie
Four days later…
I stare at their bodies. First Mom and then Dad. They look like wax people. Not real. Dad has rosy cheeks, for crying out loud. If he knew the funeral home put makeup on him, he’d lose his damn mind. The thought of him sitting up and swiping the blush off his cheeks has me giggling.
Inappropriately so.
“Rylie,” Hudson warns, irritation in his tone.
He stands near Mom’s casket and adjusts her hair so her bangs aren’t hanging over her closed eyes. She doesn’t look like herself either. The way they styled her hair is reminiscent of some bad eighties music video. If she wasn’t dead already, she’d die of a coronary.
I giggle again.
“Rylie,” my brother hisses, shooting me a sharp glare.
I swallow down the laughter because people are arriving to view the bodies. What kind of sick society do we live in where this is a thing? Mom and Dad don’t even look like the people we knew and loved. And yet here we are staring at their unmoving corpses and whispering things they cannot hear.
It’s stupid.
Where are you, Daddy? Where did you go when you left this body?
My questions go unanswered. They always do.
“How you holding up?” a sweet voice asks.
Without looking up, I know the voice belongs to Amy Kent. My brother’s longtime girlfriend. Her perfume fills my nostrils and I try not to shudder.
“Fine,” I answer and finally glance at her.
Her shimmering blond hair has been twisted into a modest bun. The simple black dress she wears is demure but can’t hide the fact Amy is curvy. Blatantly, I stare at her breasts, no doubt double Ds, and wish I were blessed in that department. Mom used to say the Hale women didn’t need big boobs. We had big smiles instead.
I’m not smiling now.
I’m wishing for bigger boobs.
At my parents’ funeral.
Amy hugs me from the side, squishing me with her big boobs. I wonder if Hudson is obsessed with them. She’s somehow kept my brother on a leash this entire time and it’s not because of her winning personality.
A grin tugs at my lips.
“There’s my girl,” she coos. “Your parents would be happy to see you smiling.”