Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 75754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
He didn’t look surprised that I knew something about what he was trying to tell me, only resigned.
“I stopped looking for her when I realized that she was under someone’s protection, and that someone’s protection was good. Good enough that I couldn’t crack it without being put on radar, and having her put on radar as well,” he informed me. “Silas was the one doing the looking, and he’d told me what he’d found out within a week of me asking it of him. But not wanting to disturb it any more than I’d already done, I told him to back off. Except he’s been keeping tabs on my mom all these years.”
“Okay,” I said. “So what did Silas have to say that upset you so much?”
“Told me that she got here in Louisiana a little over a day ago, and that her new husband was with her,” he rumbled, staring down at his toes.
Or his cock.
I really couldn’t tell which.
They were both in the same direction he was looking.
“So what’s the big deal with that?” I asked.
He sighed.
“Not a ‘big deal’ per se, but more of an inconvenience,” he admitted, pulling his hands up until they rested on top of his head, fingers interlaced on top.
“I’m not seeing the problem,” I finally said.
He sighed.
And I was really confused.
What was the big deal with his mom being here? Hell, I could see why it’d be a big deal why my mom was here, but hadn’t he grown up with his?
“My mom gave me up when I was a kid,” he said finally.
My mouth about hit the floor.
“You’re fucking kidding me,” I said.
He shook his head. “No.”
“You’re telling me that we have foster care in common and you never said a word?” I practically yelled.
He shrugged, and suddenly I was extremely pissed off.
I’d told him multiple times about how I’d been given up when I was a young girl. How hard it’d been, and how I wouldn’t wish it upon anyone. Knowing that you once belonged to someone, then having them decide that they no longer wanted you, was a killer on a person’s heart.
I always felt so alienated about it.
Yet, low and behold, the same fucking thing had happened to him!
Wouldn’t that be something you’d share?
I mean, where was the fucking camaraderie?
Weren’t fucked up kids supposed to commiserate with other fucked up kids just like them?
And didn’t the same go for adults?
Apparently, it didn’t work like that for Sterling.
And I found myself mostly disappointed.
I always felt so alone.
It was a terrible thing to have your mother tell you when you were ten years old that ‘you’re not worth the trouble.’
I never knew my dad well.
And from what I’d been able to gather when I was younger, my father never even knew I was his kid.
My mom had hid it from him.
Why, I couldn’t tell you.
My dad had been rather wealthy from what I understood, and my mom hadn’t been.
Personally, I would’ve put my own happiness aside and made sure that my child had a chance to know his or her father.
Hell, I did do that very thing.
“I don’t like talking about it,” he finally said, jarring me out of my own personal hell.
That road never led to the correct path.
It always led to despair and sorrow.
And I was tired of being on that road.
“You’re either going to have to stop acting like it’s a big deal, or talk to me. Because all you’re doing right now with the bad attitude is pissing me off and making me even more curious,” I told him.
I could hear his teeth grind, then he growled in frustration.
“I’m still pissed off about it, alright? It pisses me off that she’s fucking happy, while I’ve spent nearly my entire life fucked over. Shouldn’t she be fucking miserable because I had to be?” He all but yelled.
I blinked.
“No. She is your mother. Everyone deserves to be happy. Does that make our anger rational, though? Hell no. It doesn’t. That’s what a human being does. Our emotions control us. Which was why I killed my husband for killing my daughter, then had to spend nearly nine years in prison,” I told him.
He didn’t laugh like I’d intended.
“You’re husband deserved to die,” he informed me. “I still can’t believe you had to serve any time at all.”
I shrugged. “It was worth it.”
Did that make me a bad person, wanting my husband dead for what he did to me? To our unborn baby?
Because if it did, I didn’t really care.
I could still feel a hole in my heart.
Still feel how much it hurt to see other people having babies left and right.
“I’ve been looking for my father for a long time myself, but I don’t have resources like you do,” I told him.
He blinked. “Why are you looking for your father?”
I fiddled with the crust of my Pop-Tart, breaking it off as I said, “I don’t think my father knew who I was. He was always so nice to me when he saw my mom, but he never knew who I was to him. I don’t know if he’d even care to know me now…after what I did. Which is why I haven’t gone further than just doing my own searches on the internet.”
“I don’t know why you think you did something wrong. Do you know how many times I thought about killing the people who beat on my mom? Or even my foster parents? It was the worst existence anybody could think of for a kid. I daydreamed about ways to kill them and make it look like an accident,” he told me, crossing his arms over his chest.
“You were a kid,” I told him.
He shrugged. “So fucking what? I was eighteen when I left that place, and I still wished they’d be hit by a car and killed on their way home to drop me off at the airport.”
I smothered a laugh.
“One day you’ll have to give me more information on what they did to you. But right now we need to discuss what the big deal about your mom being in the same city as you,” I told him. “What’s it matter if she does know? Don’t you think she’ll want to see you?”