Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 101398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
“So…Thomas is your ex-fiancé?” she asks, her voice like a feather. “As in, you were supposed to marry him?”
“We were supposed to get married, but I…couldn’t go through with it.”
“And that’s why you came to Red Bridge?”
I nod. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”
“What about Mom?”
All I can do is shake my head. Our mother is the last person I want to talk about.
“Norah, what happened?” she asks, and there’s an edge of desperation to her voice. “You can tell me anything, I promise,” she adds quietly. “You’re my sister, Norah. My only family that I care about.”
And I want to tell her. I really do, but the words just aren’t there.
“Josie?”
“Yeah?”
“I need a breather,” I whisper.
Her eyes turn glossy with emotion at my use of something our father used to say. It was his answer any time he saw either of us looking sad or feeling stressed or in the middle of a temper tantrum. “You need a breather?” he’d ask calmly, and for some reason, it always worked. It was a silent lifeline of love.
Back when she was still living in New York and hadn’t left me for Red Bridge, Josie and I used to use that with each other all the time.
“Okay,” she whispers. “But at least let me help you figure out what you want to do about this current situation. Do you want to press charges?”
“I just want him gone, Josie,” I say, pushing past the ball of emotion that sits heavy in my throat. “I don’t want him here. I don’t want him in Red Bridge, but if the prosecutor charges him, they’re going to hold him here until the case goes to court. And if he’s here, that means his lawyer will be here, his family will be here and…” Our mother will be here.
I don’t know if I could mentally handle that. I came here to get away from all that. From them.
“But I definitely don’t want someone to get in trouble because they were just trying to help me,” I add, and she meets my eyes. “I don’t think Bennett should have to deal with consequences. He didn’t ask for this. Thomas made it clear he wants to charge Bennett with assault. And his family, Josie, they aren’t the kind of people who play nice. They can be so cruel.”
“I don’t think he should either,” Josie agrees. “Though, I have a hard time believing a judge is going to side with Thomas in a case like this. Even Pete said the assault charges would end up being dropped on account of self-defense, and the prosecutor plans to use him as a witness in court.”
In court. If word spread that Thomas King was in custody and awaiting trial for domestic violence, Red Bridge would be covered in journalists. The King family owns one of the biggest investment firms in the country. His father is one of the most popular voices when it comes to the stock market. He has ties to the SEC and federal commissions, and Thomas has been following in his footsteps since before he could walk. There’s no way a court case would occur without stirring up a scary amount of media. Everyone knows them.
My stomach roils again, but this time, it churns itself right into my having to grab the small trash can beside Sheriff Peeler’s desk and puke.
“Oh, Nore,” Josie comments and reaches forward to hold my hair back. “It’s going to be okay. I promise.”
It sure as shit doesn’t feel okay. It feels like I took my trouble and doubled it—and then brought it right to the doorstep of a town that doesn’t deserve it.
When the ticket vendor at the bus station asked where to, I should’ve said anywhere else…anywhere but here.
Bennett
I pull out of the police station’s parking lot with the intention of heading home, but for some reason, I find myself coming to a stop in front of Clay’s bar.
I cut the engine and just sit there in the driver’s seat, warring with myself about what I’m even doing here. Spending the day in lockup and someone who needs me at home should be all the motivation I require to go straight there, and yet…here I am.
Phone out of my pocket, I send a quick text.
Me: Evening go okay? I might still be a while.
Not even a minute later, my phone dings with a response.
Charlie: It was a good day. And no worries.
No worries. That’s not the response I needed to knock some fucking sense into my head.
Before I know it, my boots hit the concrete and my door clicks shut behind me.
The Country Club is busy as hell. Live music in the form of banjos and bluegrass filters from the stage at the back, a man who looks like the lead singer of ZZ Top yodels into the mic as a few tipsy people try their hand at line dancing, and Clay is behind the bar, serving the patrons of Red Bridge all the booze their hearts desire.