Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76172 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76172 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
I don’t blame the Malloys for their hatred toward me. It’s not anything I haven’t felt for myself, but placing that call seems like a betrayal. If Devyn wanted to let her parents know where she was, she could easily provide that information herself.
It’s not greater than the pain of losing Vaughn, but the day his mother told me she hated me and never wanted to see me again, I lost more than him. They were my family, too. Mrs. Malloy always treated me like her own child. My parents were the same way with Vaughn. There was always two of everything for both of us—two Christmases, two Easter baskets.
My parents grieved as if they lost a child as well when they got the news. In a way, they did. They loved him unconditionally. They were shunned too. The pain in the Malloys’ eyes each time they’d see each other was so painful that they moved less than a year after Vaughn died.
I sneak another peek into the kitchen on my way to my bedroom. I realize halfway down the old hallway that I’ve been moved to the newer part of the clubhouse rather than the old. Muscle memory is a bitch, but I can say there isn’t a single part of me that has wanted to ruffle Devyn’s hair like I did a million times when she was a child. Tangling my fingers in the dark curls, however…
Chapter 11
Devyn
I haven’t always been the best at reading people. Well, actually, I’ve tried and made mistakes. I attribute that to having parents who I think love me, but I don’t recall the last time they actually said it. I mean, they kept a roof over my head growing up, but they were also absent a lot. There but not really there, if that makes sense.
So the twitch of Emmett’s jaw and the way he’s gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white is hard for me to read. Is he mad? Annoyed? Wishing he were anywhere but here in the SUV with me?
I could easily ask, but he hasn’t said a word past asking me if I was ready to head to the women’s shelter.
What I do know is that the food dishes that we put in the back could’ve easily fit in the SUV with Em and Misty, but they were adamant that the food go in this one and that I ride with him. I didn’t get the vibe that they were annoyed with me, but as previously stated, I’m not the best at reading people.
I sigh, drawing in a deep breath and releasing it in a rush. The world would be a lot calmer, more welcoming, if people just said what they needed to say and moved past it, rather than bottling all that mess up inside of them. If he’s annoyed with me, then tell me. It’s not like I have any control over this situation right now. Hell, I don’t have control over a single thing in my life other than what time I go to bed. With Em and Diego turning in so early, it felt disrespectful to stay up and make noises that could bother them. So, I guess, I don’t even control that these days.
He doesn’t make a noise or ask me why I’m annoyed. It’s all too familiar, the exact way my parents acted while I was growing up when I tried to engage them without having to speak first.
I pull out my cell phone, wondering how long I’ll get to keep it because my parents pay the bill. I’m certain they won’t continue to pay for it with me gone.
Pulling up local social media groups, I swipe through them, looking for people who need help with any form of sewing project. I’ve made decent money in the past filling orders for people, and I figure since I’m not working outside of the clubhouse, this would be a great way to start saving some cash.
I torture myself with reading listings I know I can’t help with. My sewing machine isn’t the right tool for embroidery, which seem to be the overwhelming majority of requests.
I swipe through the images one poster made about personalized footballs, switching to a crafting app that has step-by-step instructions on how to do exactly that even though I know it’s not something I could do. The guy is looking for someone to do all of this for his entire league, citing that it would be over a hundred balls. It’s a lot of work, something that would be a major undertaking even if I had the right equipment.
I consider selling my regular sewing machine with the hopes that I could find an embroidery machine with enough power to complete the order, but deep down I know the order would be snatched up before I could get all of those ducks in a row. The crafting app also explains overhead costs and gives a great calculator for what the suggested charge should be for each individual item as well as pricing for bulk orders. The profit alone makes me wish I could make it happen.