Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 142728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
On paper, I don’t sound very dateable.
He scowls. Not the regular annoyed-with-the-world-in-general scowl that’s kinda sexy on him. A deep, frustrated, at-his-wit’s-end expression that snaps my mouth closed.
“How does any of that make you the mess?” he asks.
I shrug. “The common denominator is me?”
“No it’s not. It’s rotten people who like to hurt others.” He closes his eyes for a second. “Fuck, Emily. I admire the hell out of you for living through all of it. Taking care of your sister the way you have. Experiencing something so traumatic when she was so young…that would fuck a lot of people up for life. But she’s such a sweet, funny, normal kid. That has to be your doing.”
“Me and lots of therapy,” I mutter.
He lifts an eyebrow. “Who got her the therapy?”
“My aunt sent both of us,” I answer. “But I kept taking Libby after she died.”
“You’re a good sister.”
Not that good. Maybe if I’d been home that night, instead of out partying like a bratty teenager, I would’ve found her hiding in the hallway. I would’ve carried her into her bedroom like I’d done so many times before and read her a book until she went to sleep. It would’ve spared her the trauma of seeing her parents brutally killed. I could’ve hidden in that closet with her, keeping her safe. Instead she slipped into a near catatonic state to deal with what she saw.
“Emily?” Dex glides rough fingers over the back of my hand. “What did the letter say?”
“Huh?” I blink and focus on his handsome face. His brows knit together in curiosity and concern. The letter. I force myself to try and remember. “It was a while ago.” I curl my hands into fists so tight my nails bite into my palms. “I kept it in case Libby wants to read it one day.”
“That’s probably good. What did he want?”
I close my eyes, trying hard to remember the tone and intent of the letter if not the exact words. “Sort of an I’m sorry. That he had a shitty beginning but he takes responsibility for what he did.” I pause, trying to recall the last part. “I think he wanted me to visit him?”
“No fucking way.”
“That was my reaction.”
A waitress stops by to drop off our sandwiches.
“Can you bring a small bowl of lemon wedges, as well,” Dex asks.
“Sure.” She glances at me. “Anything else?”
I stare at my grilled ham and cheese, suddenly ravenous. “I’m good. Thanks.”
Dex waits for me to take a bite before slicing into his hot turkey sandwich smothered in gravy. The waitress returns with my lemons and leaves without a word.
“Thanks for remembering that,” I say to Dex, picking one up and squeezing it into my water.
He dips his chin in acknowledgment.
I bite into the buttery, crispy bread and gooey cheese. My eyes close in comforting satisfaction. I munch on one triangle of the sandwich and take a few forkfuls of coleslaw while my mind turns the letter over.
I set my fork down with a clink against the plate. “He said something about giving me the truth of that night and that he wanted to apologize in person.”
Dex’s fork is halfway to his mouth but he sets it down. “What truth?”
“I don’t know.” I poke my fork into the coleslaw, stirring the soggy cabbage and carrots. “It was pretty straightforward.” I lower my voice. “I don’t need to hear from his mouth that my father was a criminal. If that’s the truth he wants to give me, he can choke on it.”
Dex nods thoughtfully but doesn’t comment.
“Does that make me a coward?” I ask.
He reaches over and squeezes my free hand. “You’re brave as fuck, woman. Don’t ever doubt that.”
“Thanks.”
He stares at me for a few beats, then releases my hand. “I’m sorry I made you talk about it today.”
I take a deep breath. Something inside me feels different. I can’t tell if it’s good or not, yet. I haven’t talked to anyone about my parents’ murder in a long time. “Thank you for listening.”
“Thank you for trusting me,” he says in a low voice that barely reaches me.
I trust him more than I’ve ever trusted anyone.
My chest throbs with something else I can’t say yet.
Love, love, love.
“I do trust you,” I whisper. “A lot.”
Please don’t make me regret it.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Dex
Wrath: Church. ASAP.
MC life is supposed to be about doing whatever the fuck you want whenever the fuck you want. But it’s also about respecting the brotherhood. Doing what’s required to maintain the good of the whole MC, not just meeting each individual brother’s selfish needs. In some ways the codes and rules we live by are stricter than any civilian law we claim to rail against. But they’re our rules.
After what Emily shared, I hate leaving her alone in this big, old house.
I slip my phone in my pocket. The urge to pretend I didn’t see the text demanding I get my ass to church is damn tempting.