Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 131209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 656(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 437(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 656(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 437(@300wpm)
Her mouth parted and her eyes widened in shock.
“Yeah… see my dad was a cop. Not just any cop… he was the golden officer. I grew up in a town where they treated him like he was fucking God. People thought we were so lucky. Kids wanted to be me, and women wanted to be my mother. I can’t tell you how many times I hid my sisters under the bed and in the closet, praying that he didn’t come after them.”
Her eyes watered and she bit at her cheek.
“Your father put food on the goddamn table for you, and came home every night to read you a bedtime story. I don’t have one fucking memory of my father, other than his hands on my mother or me. So don’t for one second think that your dad doesn’t love you. His marriage has not one thing to do with you.”
I let go of her and stood up, leaving her on the ground looking up at me. I couldn’t look at her any longer; I walked into the bathroom slamming the door behind me. I took a look at the damage she had caused and it wasn’t as bad as I assumed it would be. She got in a few good hits and I would have some light bruises, but nothing that wouldn’t fade in a few days.
I washed my face and took one last look at myself in the mirror, before walking back out to chaos Brooke; the fortuneteller’s words running rapid through my mind.
“Don’t play with fire unless you intend to get burned. And that girl is nothing but flames.”
“You can’t save her… but she may be able to save you.”
She wasn’t where I left her. She was sitting on the bed by the headboard with her knees pulled to her chest, and her arms wrapped around her legs. Her chin sat on top of her knees.
She looked like a scared little deer.
She looked like a scared little girl.
I sat at the edge of the bed and watched how the tears streamed down her face. It broke my heart.
I reached my hand out to her, but didn’t grab her; I wanted her to come to me. She needed to meet me half way. I couldn’t keep doing this… it hurt too much. She looked down at my hand, contemplating what to do. I was petrified she wasn’t going to come to me, and I closed my eyes. When I felt her hand in mine, I immediately opened them, bringing her to me before they were even fully opened.
She came to me so easily, as if she weighed nothing, but a feather. She crawled into my lap and hugged me tightly, and I did the same to her. It was then that she openly bawled.
She sobbed like a baby. Big, huge ugly tears.
She cried for her father.
She cried for her mother.
She cried for the girl who had to grow up too fast.
She cried for the VIP, who didn’t know who she was.
But mostly, I knew in my heart.
That she cried for me.
And for the first time in over two decades…
I cried for myself, too.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
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By the time I woke up, it was dark outside. Devon’s arms were wrapped around me and I lay on top of him. I didn’t remember falling asleep, but my head was throbbing. I slowly pulled myself away from him, trying not to wake him. I walked into the bathroom, locking the door behind me. I needed a few minutes to myself.
I looked in the mirror, my eyes were bright red from crying and my face was puffy and swollen. I looked like shit. I turned on the shower and undressed while it got warm. When I stepped in I let the heat soothe me. It was scorching hot, but I didn’t care. It felt amazing. My mind was numb though it was spinning, if that made any sense at all.
I washed my body till it was bright red and stung. The pain felt good, and it replaced the ache in my heart. The water started turning cold so I shut it off and grabbed a towel; barely drying my hair and my body. I wrapped it around me and my wet hair clung to the sides of my face. I took a deep breath and opened the bathroom door; Devon was lying in the same position I had left him, still asleep.
I sat at the edge of the bed and just stared at him; his eyes started fluttering and his body shuddering. He started shaking his head side-to-side like he was having a bad dream. I immediately recalled the sleeping pills that I saw in his bag in New Orleans.
He has nightmares…
But that’s not what they were.
They were memories.
I willed myself not to cry for him and he began mumbling stuff in his sleep. I didn’t know what to do.