Total pages in book: 213
Estimated words: 201920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1010(@200wpm)___ 808(@250wpm)___ 673(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 201920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1010(@200wpm)___ 808(@250wpm)___ 673(@300wpm)
The correct answer is no. But it’s not the word that slips from my tongue. “Yes,” I reply and it comes out harder than it should, with a desperate need clinging to the single syllable.
Jake pauses and takes in my appearance.
“I have a soft spot for her,” I tell him and inwardly I hate myself. Both for the lie and for the hint at the truth. He nods his head and hangs up the dish towel in his hands.
“So she’s going to the university?” I ask him and he returns to his normal easy self.
“I didn’t get much information from her. She’d just gotten here and Mickey was at the bar.”
“Well, don’t worry about it. But if she comes in here again, text me.”
“No problem. You need anything else?” he asks and I remind him of my earlier question.
“Did Marcus come?” I already know the answer. He hasn’t shown up yet. Carter, my brother, messaged me to let me know not to waste my time in the bar tonight. But I know Marcus is a lot like me. He likes to know people’s habits and if I tell him I’ll meet him, I want him to know I’ll be there.
This isn’t my first run-in with him. Last time it took weeks before he finally showed.
There aren’t a lot of men I’d wait on, but Carter says this is important and Marcus and I have history.
“He didn’t. I don’t know why he- “
“Looks like you’re almost done,” I cut him off with a trace of a smile on my lips. “Sorry to keep you.”
“Not a problem,” he says to my back as I turn and leave the bar.
The bright light of the Iron Heart sign casts a shadow beneath my feet as I walk toward the barren parking lot with only one thing on my mind—how to find little miss Addison Fawn.
CHAPTER 5
Addison
Daniel’s a prick.
Why is it that the assholes stay in your head, rankling and festering their way into your thoughts while the nice guys are passed over?
I went shopping on the strip downtown to distract myself. I spent a pretty penny on décor for this apartment and on the softest comforter I’ve felt in my life.
One tweed rug, two woven baskets and a dozen rustic wood picture frames later and my living room is acceptable. Snapshot after snapshot I post the different angles on Instagram, where I have my largest following and where I sell most of my photos.
But it’s all done absentmindedly. And it’s not like these are for sale, just pictures that serve as an update to let my followers know I’ve found a new place.
I don’t have an ounce of interest flowing through me.
I came here to settle down. To finally give myself a reason to stay and possibly take formal classes to breathe new life into my business.
And instead I’ve been pushed back to when I was only seventeen.
No home.
No life.
No reason to do anything at all.
My throat tightens and my eyes prick, but I refuse to let a single tear fall.
It’s all because I’m still not worthy enough for Daniel fucking Cross.
My phone pings and I go into the messenger app on Facebook to see who it is.
Another person wanting me to photograph their wedding.
I don’t do functions.
I politely message back that I don’t do shoots. I only photograph the things around me and tell my own story. Not other people’s. In other words, I’m not for hire. Photography is my business, but also my therapy. I photograph what I want and nothing else. It’s the only way I’ve survived and I won’t compromise that.
That’s how I’ve made a living for the past few years. Little sales here and there. Enough to keep my head above water and to keep moving from place to place.
Searching for Something is what I eventually called my business.
Not that it started as a business. I was just taking pictures of every little thing that reminded me of Tyler.
All I had was my camera, the only present my last foster mother had ever given me. Tyler told her she should get it for me for Christmas. He said if she wouldn’t, he would. He would’ve given me anything.
And so it started with me wanting to take a photograph of the snow around his old Chevy truck that couldn’t run anymore. The rusted-out hood. The flat back left tire.
I started taking pictures of everything, obsessively. It was something Tyler and I had done together and it made sense to do at the time.
I needed something and although I didn’t know what that something would be, I took photos of everything on my way to find what I was looking for.
Something to take the guilt away. Something to make me smile the way a boy who loved me in a way I didn’t deserve had.