Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 77842 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77842 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
“Things have been different—I feel different.” I press my hand to my chest, making myself calm down, ensuring I speak rationally. I don’t want to be by myself, but having him here, without us being the way we were, is the coldest isolation.
“What are you trying to say?” His brows inch inward, his jaw tensing. “Wait—are you breaking up with me?” His question is sharp, making me feel small.
“I’m sorry, it’s just…you put your fucking hands on me and my kid!” I finally shout.
“But we went over that and made up. You accepted my apology, Rain. Why are you bringing this up again? Do you not get enough attention? Is that it?”
My mouth opens, then closes. How the fuck is he turning this on me?
“I acknowledged you were sorry and felt bad, that doesn’t mean it was forgotten.”
“It does. You fuck up, you say sorry, you move on!” he yells back. Warm tears slip down my cheeks. My hand covers my mouth to hide my quivering bottom lip. He might be right, but I don’t feel the same about him, not like I did before he put his hands on Paige and started hurting me.
“We aren’t working out anymore, Heston,” I finally say, “This isn’t us, we bring the ugly out of each other and we’re to the point of hating one another.
“You hate me? Is that what you’re saying?” He raises a brow, waiting for me to respond, a challenge in his voice. I don’t reply, I’m too scared to do so.
“I sold my place! I have nowhere to live! You want me to sleep on the couch?” he sneers. My eyes fill with tears, I’m never going to get this man out of my life, am I? Grabbing his keys off the counter, I throw them at him as hard as I can.
“No, you can sleep in your truck!” I seethe hysterically. I’m trapped. Like a sheep shut in with a wolf, I have nowhere to go and nowhere to hide.
27
Heston slept on the couch last night, despite me telling him to go to his tuck, and we haven’t spoken today. I feel like a stranger in my own house. I should have called the cops—I should have ended it then and there. There is no saving this.
In my pottery room, I count the pieces I have finished, nervous I won’t have enough to fill a booth. I need variety, more colors and sizes. I tap my chin, contemplating. A knock at the door has my head snapping in its direction.
Paige stands in the doorway with worry lining her forehead, her phone clasped in her hands.
“Hey, everything okay?” I ask.
She shakes her head like she doesn’t understand something, looking at me with sorrow-dipped eyes. “Dad was supposed to pick me up an hour ago,” she starts, frustration in her voice. “He won’t answer me back either.” Damnit Cam, not this shit again. When he’s a no call, no show, it usually means he landed himself in jail.
I grab my phone, looking at the time. Two-thirty. No texts or voicemails either. I raise my brow, looking at Paige.
“When did you last talk to him?”
“Um, I’m not sure. Couple days after the fight, maybe?” She shrugs. I rub my temples, trying to think. It’s not my job to go chasing him down at some dirty bar anymore, but the weight of him still being Paige’s father has me putting my art aside and looking for my keys.
Paige rides with me into the city, and we check Cam’s place first. The one-story house has seen better days. Paint chipping, shutters hanging off, weeds overgrown, taking over the dry-rotted porch. Paige knocks, and I try to look through a window. It’s scummed over with nicotine and dust, the dark curtain blocking the view. Jesus, and I let Paige come over here.
“He’s not here,” I mutter.
Paige turns, pointing to the driveway.
“His truck is here, though.”
I bite my bottom lip. If he went on a bender, he would’ve taken his truck. The entire time I’ve known him, he’s never had a sober driver come get him. A bad feeling fills my chest. My forehead starts to sweat. Grabbing my phone, I look through our mutual contacts and text his sister and his fishing buddy, asking if they’ve seen them.
“Come on, let’s go sit in the van while we wait for someone to text me back.” I press my hand on Paige’s back, ushering her to come and rest. Reluctantly, she goes, sitting in the passenger seat, her legs kicked up on the dash. Climbing into the driver’s seat, my back is slick with sweat, so I turn the van on for the air conditioning. A black bird flies over the house, circling it like it’s roadkill, ready to tear it apart until nothing is left. It caws and flaps it wings, and I can’t help but wonder what it’s really going off about. Tapping my phone on my thigh, it finally dings.