Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 45361 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 227(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45361 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 227(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
“Oh?”
Mom doesn’t look up, focused on her scissors.
“Graham’s locker was open. There was a photo of him and Dad inside.”
Mom’s hand pauses, the scissors mid-snip. Slowly, she turns to me, dread in her eyes. I’ve seen my mom scared enough times to know I’m reading her correctly.
“Are you sure?” she asks.
“Mom, you sound like Graham now. I know what Dad looks like. Looked like.”
I add the last bit with a hint of sadness, though my feelings about Dad will always be conflicted.
“I don’t understand,” she says. “Why would he have a photo of your dad?”
Mom isn’t looking at me as she speaks. She stares at the floor instead, avoiding my gaze.
“I think you know.”
She stands abruptly, shaking her head. “I need a glass of water.”
“Mom…”
I follow her into the kitchen. She stands at the sink, hand shaking as she pours the glass.
“I don’t know why he would have a photo of your dad. I don’t know, okay?”
“What is it? Just the craziest coincidence ever?”
“Are you sure it was your dad?”
“Yes, Mom, I’m sure,” I yell, my voice way too loud, especially considering I’m hiding secrets of my own.
“Fix your tone, young lady,” Mom snaps. “I’ve given you my answer. I have no idea why he would have that photo. Are we clear? Are we done?”
“No, not really. You haven’t tol—”
“Layla, enough.” She drops her glass heavily into the sink without taking a sip. “I. Don’t. Know. Okay? I’m going to work in my room. I have to focus.”
With that, she leaves, going into the living room and stomping up the stairs.
“You clearly know something,” I shout after her. I return to the living room. It’s like when I was a teenager, in the early years after Dad left, and Mom sometimes acted more like a sister or a friend than my mom. We’d get into petty arguments, and she’d throw tantrums, attempting to deal with her hectic new existence.
The front door opens, and Miles walks into the living room, stopping when he sees me. We haven’t spoken one-on-one since last night when we almost did it.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“It’s nothing,” I say, but then annoying-as-heck tears slide down my cheeks.
I try to fight them, but the argument and the confusion have me too pent-up, not to mention that Miles and I are in the same room, reminding me of last night. He rushes over, kneeling and pulling me into a hug. As I collapse against him, burying my face in the safety of his firm chest, I wonder what Mom or Noah would think of this if they caught us. Would they see a step-uncle comforting his niece, or would they know the truth?
“Tell me,” he says, softly stroking my hair.
For a moment, I wonder if he means the other thing I still haven’t told him—why last night was so difficult.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Miles
“I know it was him,” Layla says when she finishes explaining, “and from how Mom reacted, I know she knows something, too, but she and Graham are telling me I’m wrong.”
“I believe you,” I reply, my hand wrapped around hers warmly.
We can almost pretend we’re not listening for Elena to walk down the stairs or for Noah to pull up in the driveway.
“I know what Mom’s like,” she says. “Once she shuts down, that’s it. She won’t tell me anything.”
“It’s one hell of a coincidence if it is one.”
“It’s not. It can’t be. Something’s going on.”
I hate to see her like this. Her pain is so clear, and her cheeks are red from crying. Her kitchen assistant uniform is crumpled from our embrace.
“Maybe I can help,” I tell her.
“How?”
“My job requires connections. Sometimes, I have to hire private detectives to research the people I’m dealing with to ensure they’re legitimate businessmen and not criminals trying to launder money. I can use these resources and connections to look into Graham for you.”
“Would you do that for me?”
There are so many ways I could answer this question. If I told the truth, I’d tell her there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her. I would drag Graham by his chef’s hat from the restaurant if she wanted me to.
“Of course,” I say, taming the wilder parts of me… for now. “You deserve to know the truth.”
“It would mean going behind Mom’s back.”
I squeeze her hand. It’s risky remaining this close, especially because Elena could walk down the stairs any second.
“It’s a difficult choice,” I say. “I don’t like the idea any more than you do, but you know what I hate even more? The thought of you driving yourself nuts over this.”
She sighs, sitting back, her cheeks colored red from the crying and her lips pursed as she thinks it over.
“I know, Mom. She won’t tell me anything now. She’s completely closed off. She’ll go on like it never happened if I never mention it again. That’s how she was with Dad for years, not explaining all the stuff he did. The cheating and everything.”