Series: Like Us Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 241
Estimated words: 236417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1182(@200wpm)___ 946(@250wpm)___ 788(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 236417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1182(@200wpm)___ 946(@250wpm)___ 788(@300wpm)
“You ever think maybe you should’ve let her go?” I ask him.
He rests a full bottle of whiskey on the bar and holds on to the neck. “Are you rethinking this thing between you and that Hale girl? I know there might be rough patches, but there are more upsides than downsides—”
“Everything’s good between me and Luna,” I say lightly. “I’m talking about you and Bridget.”
“Your mom,” he says with a slow nod. “Sure, I thought about ending things a few times. I’d bet she’d say the same about me. We’re both not without faults, but I love her. It’s…it would kill me to cut her out. I couldn’t. I won’t. And she’s doing great now. She said you talked to her on Christmas.”
“For a bit.” I twist the glass of bourbon and smoke a cigarette with my other hand. “She’s thinking she’ll be let out soon?”
“Soon-ish. We could pick her up together. I know she’d love that.” He smiles over at me, and it’s not like I haven’t picked her up from prison before. It’s different this time. I can’t say exactly why or how, but it just feels so fucking different. Sean’s more thoughtful than ever before, and Bridget called me on Christmas—and not because she wanted anything.
“Yeah, alright.” I take another drag, blowing smoke away from him. “About the Hales—”
“The Hales,” he says with a tight, uncertain sigh. “Look, if you’re weighing my relationship with your mom against Loren Hale and Lily Calloway—I can’t help you there. We didn’t grow up loaded. Drugs weren’t an escape from boredom for us—it was an escape from poverty.”
“I wasn’t trying to compare you. I know it’s not the same.”
His jaw tics, but he nods and then asks, “Am I ever meeting any of ‘em? Those people—they’re important to you, aren’t they? Your girlfriend, her dad, her mom? At some point, I wanna meet ‘em.”
His insistence gives me pause. “Why?”
He’s frustrated. “‘Cause how else am I gonna be a part of your life if you keep me out of most of it? It’s like you don’t trust me or something.” He gestures from my chest to his.
“I trust you,” I assure.
“Doesn’t look like it. Looks more like I’ve done a whole hell of a lot for you, and you’ve done nothing for me. But it’s fine. It’s fine.” He backs up from the bar, from me, hands in the air to cool off. “I’ll stop pushing.”
I snuff the cigarette in an ashtray. “Lo does wanna meet you.”
“You call him Lo?” He’s irritated now. Jealous, really. He glares at the grimy, band-stickered wall. “Well, aren’t you two best friends.”
I laugh hard. “Yeah, he wrote me in his will and everything,” I joke. “He’s leaving me a single buck. Can you believe that?”
His smile returns. “So ‘best friends’ is too far then?”
I shrug. “Think Lo would rather befriend a ground mole than me at times.” I don’t add how I’m growing on Lo—that being friends with him feels less and less like a longshot and more like an in-arm’s-reach reality.
“That hard?” he asks.
“Parents don’t love me, but I manage to steal a few hearts.”
He nods a few times, and I swear there’s a flicker of pride in his eyes. “Yeah, you do.” He pours himself a glass of whiskey. “Do I need to go through his assistant to set up a date and time or what?”
“I’ll just let you know when and where.” I’m not in love with the idea of this meeting, but Lo has been as persistent and adamant as my dad. So it’s gonna happen. “Really, I wanted to ask you about that night…with the Hales.”
“That night,” he repeats, his gaze darkening. “The hearing is in April. ‘K, no one’s gonna talk while they’re stuck in jail, let alone waiting to be sentenced.”
“Can you just ask around about Xander?”
“Xander Hale?” He’s genuinely confused. “The kid you protect?”
“That night, they were asking about Xander. I just wanna know why. The original plan might’ve involved him.”
He digests this. “Alright, yeah. I’ll see what Ollie knows and go from there.” He sips his whiskey, and when I go to grab my bourbon, he slides the glass towards his chest. “You look like you’ve barely slept. Go get some rest, son.”
I inhale. “Thanks.”
He nods back with an expression I can easily read. It says, I’m here if you need me.
As I stand off the barstool, I leave with a strange mixture of guilt and relief. And I only think one thing.
I wish I didn’t wear a wire.
My dad doesn’t deserve to be used by me.
50
PAUL DONNELLY
We’re on the pool table in the penthouse’s game room. Sitting on the green felt, I hold her soft leg across my lap with gloved hands, and the familiar hum of the tattoo machine fills the quiet. She’s lounged backward on her elbows and slides an 8-ball into a corner pocket.