Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 110116 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 551(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110116 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 551(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
They both stare at me, their little dog running around barking at us as I put my hand down and turn to the driver.
“You can go get some food. I’ll text you if I need you sooner.” My voice gets louder as I try to speak over the loud growling and high-pitched barking from their little rat dog.
“Okay well, Merry Christmas.” Gia waves at them and I smile, placing my hand on her lower back to get us away from them.
“Boy.” That stops me. I lift an eyebrow at his gall. I’m not a boy, nor am I in the mood for what I know is coming.
“You hold up. I have things I need to say to you, and I don’t care one bit that you’re some hotshot singer.” He snorts, contempt oozing from his mouth. “Your mother needs you. She’s sick, and with all that money of yours, you’d think you could do better by her. I’m done calling 911 all the time.” He points an old arthritic finger at me, then takes his wife’s arm to continue walking down the sidewalk, their football dog still barking at the air.
“The fuck?” I mutter, my face flooding with heat. My head pounds and my pulse feels like it will bust out of my temples.
Last report on my mom was that they were changing her meds and a new doctor was needed. I turn as if I’m in a tunnel. My eyes focus on the house three doors down across the street.
The grass is green and flowers are blooming. I’ve hired people to fix it, paint it white with cute yellow shutters. Red roses climb and drape around the top of the archway joined with red and purple bougainvillea.
It sure as hell looks like a dream house compared with the run-down mess I grew up in.
“This was a mistake.” I stare at the house. I thought I was beyond this. But no matter how big I get, all I am is a fucked-up kid running from the past, staying one step ahead of my demons. This place lets them free. They can swarm and infiltrate my brain here. After all, this is where they live.
“I have to call Rafe. Do you see any paparazzi?”
“Rhys?” Like a soothing warm blanket, she touches my hands, my face.
“You don’t need to call Rafe.” Her voice brings my eyes to hers. Her green eyes are clear, holding no judgment. Gia understands my pain, always has, yet never have I felt shame about my mom with her.
“You want to go?” My eyes look down at her hopeful ones.
I grab her, pulling her tight. “I need you,” I say, my voice rough. Taking her hand, I glance around for a spot where I can fuck her. Maybe her body will take my mind’s poisons away.
She nods, her eyes reflecting that same pull, craving, our own personal hunger.
I turn, only to halt. Janet Fontaine stands watching us, her eyes narrowed almost to slits as she shades her face with a hand.
“Rhys.” She sounds shocked as she drops her hand. She’d be beautiful like her daughter if she didn’t always look like she had the weight of the world on her.
“Oh, Gia. I just can’t believe this.” She holds open the door and steps aside rather dramatically, but whatever. Let’s get this over with. Gia was right. This was a mistake, but we’re here, and hopefully I won’t have to come back for years.
“I now understand why you don’t want my son over for dinner,” she snips as I step inside. I bite the inside of my mouth to stop from snarling that I’d fucking love to beat the shit out of her son right about now.
“Take it easy, Mom. I can explain everything—” Gia’s voice trails off as we both take in the inside of the house.
It looks like Janet has decided to move to the North Pole and become an elf in Santa’s workshop. I shit you not, there’s fake snow, a long wooden table with wooden toys, paint, glitter, and fucking elves everywhere.
“Oh my God…wow, Mom.” Gia looks around as Janet walks by and grabs her glass of white wine.
“I had to do something or go mad with worry.” She says all this as if it’s normal to make your living room look like this.
She sits on the white couch, which has a blanket saying Santa’s, and I wonder if she thinks she’s Mrs. Claus as she reaches for a red-striped pillow to put behind her back.
“What is happening?” Gia mumbles as she tosses a few elves aside so we have a spot to sit.
“Janet, I’m sorry if Gia scared you.” I lean forward, my hands resting on my knees. “I’m assuming you have pieced together that Gia is with me—”
She holds up her hands. “When you say with you, like with… you?” She looks like she’s swallowed a bitter pill. “Or do you mean with the band? Taking pictures for the scholarship?”