Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 90564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Halfway to the porch, Zepp’s phone dinged with that annoying Sherwood Forest horn blare. I froze. That was the text alert for his redheaded succubus. The misplaced memory of why my brother had punched me flickered to life.
“You cocksucker.” I spun around and pointed a finger at him. “That’s why you left my birthday party. To go hunt down Red?”
“You can’t say shit to me. You let your ex-girlfriend move in with you.” He pushed to his feet and nudged the toolbox out of the way. “Now you're so deep in her pussy I don’t know how you breathe.”
I felt my face heat when he started across the dead grass. Lola was one thing. Monroe James was a whole other ballgame.
“If she comes over here and—”
“She’s already here,” he said, grinning like a dickhead when he passed by me to the back porch.
***
Me: They’re banging.
Lola Cola: That’s what people do, babe.
Me: She’s not people.
Lola: She’s not a demon, Hendrix. He clearly loves her. Be happy for him
Lola: And maybe I’ll make you extra happy later 😉😘
That hyena howl echoed down the stairwell. Happy for him. What-the-fuck-ever. I turned up the TV, trying to block out that and the thud of Zepp’s headboard hitting the wall. An episode of Stranger Things later, Monroe waltzed through the living room, red hair all tangled, Zepp right behind her.
“Hey, Hen,” she said when she passed into the kitchen.
My eye twitched. She knew I hated that name. It sounded like a damn chicken.
I looked at my brother when he walked in. “I guess you two made up?”
“A few times.” He snatched his cigarettes from the coffee table with a grin and lit one.
A bang came from the kitchen. “Stop sulking, Hendrix.”
“You think you can just waltz back in here and rummage through my crap, Red?”
The doorbell rang, and Zepp went to answer it while Monroe and I went back and forth. She glared at me when she dropped to the couch.
“Glad to see getting a girlfriend didn’t make you any less of an asshole.”
“What if Lola and Monroe become friends, Hendrix?” Zepp fell to the couch beside her, opening an envelope.
“Lola has better taste than soulless gingers.”
Zepp half-rolled his eyes, taking a drag from his cigarette. “She’s with you. I don’t think–” His brow creased, his gaze glued to the unfolded piece of paper in his hand. “Oh, shit.” He swiped a hand over his mouth, then pushed up, bringing the letter to me. “Sorry, man. I thought this was for me.” He dropped the half-folded paper to my lap. “It’s from the department of corrections…”
I glanced from my brother’s concerned expression to the piece of paper in my lap.
Dear Miss Stevens,
Pursuant to the Code of Alabama, 15-23-75 and 15-23-78, this letter serves to notify you, as formerly requested, of the pending release of Johan Taylor.
His anticipated release is set for December 16th.
For questions, please call 555-1023
Who the hell was Johan Taylor, and why was Lola getting a notification of his release? I took my phone from the arm of the recliner and was about to text her, then stopped.
Why the hell was she getting this? I swiped off Lola’s text message thread and pulled up the state records website.
Johan Taylor. Statutory rape, second degree. Arrested—a week after Lola was taken into foster care.
Sections of a puzzle slotted together in my mind. And with each click of the pieces, I lost a part of my soul. Click. The broken, empty look on her face when she told me the baby wasn’t mine. Click. How she couldn't breathe when she told me she’d cheated on me. Click. Me pushing her away when she tried to hold on to me, begging me to forgive her, screaming for me not to leave her.
I leaned over my knees, the letter crinkling beneath my elbows. I fought to breathe through the shock, the pain, the anger and guilt and regret. She’d been raped.
“Fuck,” I choked out between heavy breaths, tears burning my eyes.
Raped. Someone had fucking raped her.
I felt sick. How could anyone do that to her? To my girl. To my Lola.
How could I have let that happen?
I shoved out of the recliner, ignoring my brother calling my name as I stormed toward the door and outside. The second the door banged shut behind me, I screamed and launched a fist into the wooden post by the stairs.
How the hell had I not known?
Lola hadn’t betrayed me. But I sure as hell had betrayed her because I didn’t know, and I should have.
I’d called her a whore. I’d hated her and given her shit… Angry tears spilled down my cheek and I threw another punch at the post, splitting my knuckles.
Nausea twisted my gut as I crossed the leaf-covered yard.
The door creaked open behind me. I knew it was my brother.