Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92190 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92190 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
I’ve told him a lot about them, but I’ll never be able to bring him to this place. It’ll never be safe. It’s a gamble even for me to come, but I had to pay my respects to them on their anniversary. Six years has been too long.
I keep to the outskirts of Boston on my way to the cemetery, and it brings back so many memories. I’ve come a long way from the lost girl looking for validation. I had Bentley, became a mother, and found purpose beyond myself. I never understood the sacrifices my parents made until I became a parent myself, and even then, it didn’t feel like a sacrifice, just a change.
I take a moment to center myself as I get out of my car. Moving between the headstones, I carry a bouquet of lilacs because they were my mother’s favorite. I come to a stop at their graves and let out a shaky breath.
It feels strange being here after all this time. It’s been eight years now since their boating accident. It was only because I was adamant about staying at a friend’s house that night for a sleepover that I wasn’t with them.
For months after I got the news of their deaths, I found myself wishing I’d been with them. I’d never have experienced that gut-wrenching feeling of losing everything all at once. Of not knowing left from right or regretting all the stupid fights or horrible things I called them.
I was a spoiled brat.
I guess it’s why I was so susceptible to Bobbi’s influence shortly after their funeral. I’d made mistakes in my grieving but snapped out of it quick smart for Bentley’s sake.
I smile sadly, thinking about that as I crouch to put the flowers down. They’d always told me I had a fiery temper but a heart of gold. And they constantly lectured me about the fights I’d get into at school if someone was disrespectful to my friends.
I’d forgotten all those things about myself as if they’d happened in another life. It’s only recently that the temperamental bratty part of me has come to the surface again, and I blame that on a certain asshole who intentionally draws it out of me to wind me up.
My mind immediately flashes to last night—his hands on me, his lips on mine. I try to push the thought away as I sit down and prepare to update my parents on the last six years.
“He’s five now. Can you believe that?” I tell them. So much of me wishes they were here to spend time with him, to play with him, and to have Sunday meals with him. I wish my father could teach him things like fishing and my mother could spoil him with sweets.
I wrap my arms around myself. Sometimes, I wonder if I’m as good a parent as they were. I can’t help but feel like I’m failing at times. I can’t fill every role Bentley needs in his life. But I still try to be all of those things for him. I’m a good mother, but what if one day I can’t answer his questions or guide him in the best way possible?
I sigh. My parents made parenting look so easy.
“You were right about one thing,” I say. “Paying bills sucks.” I laugh sadly, remembering our last argument a week before the accident. I’d announced I was going to move out and live my life the way I wanted to. I didn’t realize in a few weeks I’d be doing exactly that… without them being there as a safety net.
I stayed with my aunt for a few weeks after my parents died, but she and I never got along, and soon, I fell into the wrong crowd with the Boston Delinquents. She practically disowned me when she found out, and I became a part of their family instead. My aunt passed away from cancer when I was eighteen, and I was too caught up in my own business that I didn’t so much as visit her when she was sick.
I’d been selfish.
I’d been grieving.
But eventually, I found myself.
And I make sure not to hold any of those things too deeply. Because I know too well how crippling the weight of grief and regret can be, so, it doesn’t serve Bentley or me to be living in the past when all I have to do is look forward to our future.
“I can’t believe you actually came,” a voice says behind me.
I furrow my brow, turning around as I stand. I don’t recognize the man. I do, however, recognize the leathers and patches he’s wearing. I immediately start scanning the cemetery, making sure he’s the only one here.
“Oh, he’s not here. But he told me to hang out here for the day in case you showed up. And you did,” he says smugly.