Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 127146 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127146 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
“I’m very close to ending you and taking it all away. Is that what you want? Do you want your mom to suffer? Do you want to be out on the streets? I’ll take it all, football, your friends, the money. Don’t think otherwise, because I will. I don’t make idle threats, Drew. I just do it. Oh, and by the way, if I hear you’re seeing that little white trash whore again, I’ll make sure there’s nothing left of her for you to see.”
I grit my teeth, squeezing the phone as I rush up the front steps of the Mill. No matter how many times I walk through that old wooden door under the stained glass, it always makes me look. Once inside, the heat hits me quickly, and I walk straight into the kitchen to get some water or maybe something stronger. “I’m trying to give you what you want. She was a girl, Father, I don’t know her. I don’t care about her. I danced with her because you told me to. That’s it. Besides, she seems like she’d be a lousy lay anyway.”
My father makes a noise like a snort. “Well, that’s what mistresses are for, Son.”
I tense and gulp, forcing myself not to erupt at the mention of a mistress, not to confront him or call him out on how he treats my mother.
“Sure,” I reply vaguely. “Anything else you need from me? All arrangements are in order, and the house will be empty that night.”
He sighs. “No. I’ll see you for the next event, and you better be far more fucking excited about the prospect of that girl. She’s the future of our legacy. I expect you to pay attention to her.”
I swallow thickly. “Fine. I'll see you then.”
He hangs up without another word, and I brace my hands on the kitchen counter. I don’t know what’s happening. I’m playing a game of blind chess, and every piece I move, costs me another. All I can think now is what the fuck will be his next move, and can I make my own before he does?
CHAPTER 18
BEL
I'm staring out the foggy glass of my windshield at a crack that runs up the middle from the hood to the top. It cracked this morning when I turned the heat on in the car. It doesn't matter. Nothing really matters at the moment. The world could implode around me, and all I’d do is shrug my shoulders. Not when I'm staring down at the text from my mom showing the test results the doctor sent her.
She's really sick. Dying.
It shouldn't exactly be a surprise, not by how hard things have been for her lately, but it's the confirmation from the doctor that's brought things so into focus I can't see beyond it. My mother is dying. She’s fucking dying. I’m angry, so angry with God, my own mother for taking so long to go to the doctor, precious time we could’ve had to catch this earlier, and my father for abandoning us.
A large red cart rolls by, a hunky football player pushing it easily toward the football field they've turned into a makeshift carnival. Everyone is stupidly excited about it when it’s just another fundraiser for the rich. I’m not really angry about the carnival, more the things taking place in my life. My biggest priority is helping my mom and getting her the treatments she needs. I watch the cart wheel by, my gaze falling on the library ahead. The library is across the parking lot, a new tutoring student probably already waiting inside. I need to focus on that, put together a plan, and get the money going steady from my clients so I can help take care of my mother.
My phone buzzes in the cup holder near my thigh. I stare down at my mom's picture flashing on the screen. Shit. She likely wants to know what I think. I sniff hard to clear my sinuses and then swipe my fingers across my cheeks. If she thinks I've been crying, this will turn into her focusing on me when it needs to be the other way around.
I force out a long exhale and hit the green button. "Hey, Mom. I was just going to call you. I have a new tutor client I have to meet soon, but I wanted to talk about your test results.”
There's some static, and then my mom's voice cuts through, reedy and thin. "Oh baby, I won't keep you. I just wanted to check on you, make sure you were okay.”
There's a long pause where I guess neither of us knows what to say. The results are...the results. It feels like there's nothing I can do, and my mother just won't accept we need to be doing everything we can to treat her. It’s like she’s made up her mind. Every time I bring it up, she tells me the money should go toward my education, not her medical bills. Medical bills that keep growing with every test and every prescription to keep things at bay.