Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 87275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
“Look at your life,” I say, refusing to back down. “You don’t have a boyfriend. You don’t have a job, aside from a part-time gig at a consignment store. You don’t have friends now—and that’s your fault, by the way.”
She gasps.
“You come to me for everything and give me nothing,” I say, boring holes into her. “I’m not talking about money. I’m talking about support. Camaraderie. Friendship. Motherly advice.”
“You’re lying.”
“Am I?” I ask, my voice squeaking. “What’s my favorite color? Food? Movie? Cookie? I’ll wait.”
She stares at me.
“Exactly. But do you know who knows? Ripley has a jar of my favorite cookies in his house just in case I might swing by. He bought me purple gloves when we went ice-skating because he knows it’s my favorite color. He knew I’m not adventurous when it comes to food, and when we went to this really ritzy place and I panicked, he ordered food I liked for me. And you just ran him off!”
I hold my temples, feeling a migraine coming on.
“I’m tired, Mom. I’m exhausted and I can’t do this anymore. I’ve felt happier and more alive the last couple of days than I ever have, and you just ruined that for me.” I lift my gaze to hers. “It’s like you want me to be as miserable as you are.”
Tears fall down her cheeks, and I can’t find it in me to care.
I leave her with her pizza and wine and storm into my house. The image of Ripley’s face—the pain of being compared to and judged for being the son of the monster Reid Brewer—rips my heart in two pieces.
Ripley has protected me throughout my life. Now is the time I protect him.
Even if it kills me.
With the door locked behind me, I sob.
Chapter Thirty
Ripley
Waffles nudges my leg with his nose.
“I know, buddy,” I say, downing another shot of tequila. “Give me a second.”
He barks, as if that’s not good enough.
“That’s the theme of the day,” I say.
I sit at the island, hunched over. The cameras are still sitting where we left them this morning. The pan of burnt turkey bacon is on the stove. A single white chocolate macadamia nut cookie is on the counter, and I want to fucking cry.
My insides ache with a hollowness, a sickness, that extends deep into my soul. I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut repeatedly and left to die.
Felicity’s words echo alongside my father’s in my head. It occurs to me why they would’ve been attracted to each other. They’re both horrible people who like to manipulate those around them to get what they want.
If karma was real, they would’ve ended up together.
“Fucking hell,” I say slumping against the counter. “This is bullshit. All of it.”
What’s really bullshit? Is it that our parents are selfish assholes, or is it that I’m afraid Georgia might believe the things both of our parents said about me?
My phone rings and I jump, knocking my glass down the island as I reach for the call. But my heart drops when I see it’s not Georgia.
“Hey,” I say, pulling my glass back to me again.
“Sutton just got off the phone with Georgia. Are you okay?” Jeremiah asks.
“I’m drinking tequila.”
“Shit.” He takes a deep, frustrated breath. “Want me to come over?”
“Nope. Sure don’t.”
“Hey, Ripley. It’s Sutton.”
“Hey,” I say.
“What can I do for you?” she asks.
I take another shot for good measure. “Is she okay?”
“She will be.”
“Her mother is a piece of fucking work. You should’ve heard the shit she was saying—and I don’t even care about the stuff she said about me. You should’ve heard the way she spoke to Georgia.”
Sutton sighs. “I know. This has been a long time coming. But this relationship is important to Georgia, even if it’s unhealthy.”
“So what do I do? If anyone else in the world had talked to her like that, I would’ve stepped in and ended it.” My stomach curls, threatening to launch the tequila across the kitchen. “But it’s her mom, and she’s been very clear that she wants to preserve that relationship. So what do I do? I feel like I failed her today.”
I hold my head, disgusted with myself.
Maybe my dad was right. Maybe I am good for nothing.
“You did the right thing,” Jeremiah says. “Tensions were high. The right thing was to leave and let Georgia handle it. She was safe, and if she needed you, she would’ve called.”
And she didn’t call.
Fuck. I hang my head.
“She’s really embarrassed about the things her mother said to you,” Sutton says. “I know she feels awful.”
“It’s not her fault. I’m sure her piece of work mother will blame her for it, considering it seems like she blames her for everything.”
“You have no idea,” Sutton says, groaning.
Her mother’s words echo through my head.
“I can’t believe you’d do this to me, especially when you know what a rotten week this has been for me!”