Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 60576 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 303(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60576 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 303(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
“Well, it didn’t take long for that to spread,” I say, my heart skipping a beat.
There goes my anonymity.
“You know Esme, she can’t keep much to herself. She would have been on her phone sharing with the entire town before you even left that café.”
I snort, but it isn’t entirely amused. “Don’t I know it.”
“What brings you back? This isn’t a place I thought you’d want to come to, after ...”
His eyes flicker, and I offer a smile, in an attempt to show him that it’s okay, he can say what he likes.
“My father’s sins aren’t my own, but there are a lot of unanswered questions. I guess I can’t move on with my life until I attempt to answer those questions.”
He nods in understanding. “Does it feel strange, coming back here after everything?”
Sighing, I glance back at the house. “Strange, yes. But weirdly, it feels as though I only left yesterday.”
“I can imagine. Where have you been all these years?”
I face him again. “I went into the system until I turned eighteen, and then I got the hell out of there. Mostly, I have been working in New York, but the big city life isn’t really for me.”
“I hear you. Listen, if it’s okay with you, I’d love to catch up more, maybe over a drink?”
My tension eases just a little. At least someone in this town isn’t going to shun me before I even get a chance to find what I’m looking for.
“You know what, that would be amazing.”
He smiles, showing me a row of perfect teeth. He was handsome when he was younger, but now, Jace is simply dazzling. I don’t know how he isn’t married with ten kids. Lord knows if I married someone that looked like him I would never leave.
“Excellent. Put your number in my phone, and we can work out a time when you’ve settled in.”
He steps up closer to me, stretching out his hand and passing me a phone. I put my number in and flush as our fingers gaze. Jace somehow manages to have the same effect on me as he did all those years ago. Gosh, I was obsessed with him. I cringe at the memories. Back then, I would have done just about anything to get him to notice me.
“I’ll leave you to it. It was amazing to see you, Mera. We never did get the chance to hang out back then, so I’m glad we do now.”
I smile. I can’t help it. “Me, too.”
Once he leaves, I turn my attention back to the house. For so long, I thought this was my happy place, now I look at it and wonder if every single moment I felt good in this house was simply a lie, a mask covering up the raw truth. Exhaling, and knowing I’ve had enough for today, I turn and walk away.
One step at a time.
That’s what my therapist told me.
Just one damn step at a time.
2
The bar hums with activity as Jace and I make our way inside, and I can't help but notice the heads turning in my direction. It's no surprise—I’m the talk of the town, and everyone’s eager to remind me. Each venture from my hotel room has been met with harsh remarks, stares, and whispers.
It seems people don’t forget as easily as I’d hoped.
“Everyone is staring at me,” I mumble to Jace, lowering my head as I take the hand he stretches behind me, capturing mine and making me feel a moment of safety.
“Ignore them. It’ll be okay. Come on.”
We settle into a booth, and I let out a breath, feeling a sense of relief. I'm not usually confrontational, but I’ll defend myself if needed. The first unwelcome comment may be all it takes to set me off. They act as if I was the one who murdered people and destroyed this town, as if it were me with blood on my hands.
They forget I was just a child.
“People suck,” I tell Jace, meeting his eyes. “It’s like they think I did it.”
“They’re just bored,” he reassures me, enclosing my hand with his, sending a shiver down my spine. “What drink would you like?”
“Vodka and soda, with lemon, please.”
He smiles warmly. “Coming right up.”
As he leaves, I keep my gaze low, avoiding eye contact. The door opens, diverting everyone’s attention, and I can’t help but see what's causing the stir. It must be good if they have taken their inquisitive gazes off me for a second. A group of bikers, sporting leather jackets with recognizable patches, enter the bar.
I’m familiar with them—the Fallen Sons MC. They’ve been around since my childhood. I didn’t know them, but I recall their presence, mysterious but not troublesome. At least, not that I remember. To be fair, I was a teenage girl too worried about boys and friends to notice a heap of bikers getting around.