Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 139088 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 464(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 139088 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 464(@300wpm)
After that, I lost the suit.
He lost his too.
And…see?
Expanding your horizons was always rewarding.
When the banging on the door came, I knew it was him.
Knox.
After the drama I’d participated in so fully and the ensuing unfortunate occurrence of needing to escape, but also needing to wait for Lyft and not wanting any of my friends to come out to see if I was okay, so I’d had to jog three blocks away before I called it (and I was so far from a jogger, it wasn’t funny), I wanted to cower in my bed and ignore it.
But I’d let my inner wimp loose far too often lately.
That wasn’t me.
I could let it be me when the occasion warranted it.
But this time, it didn’t.
We’d both fucked up (though I would note, he started it). We needed to sort ourselves out and move on.
Therefore, I hauled my ass out of bed and trudged down the hall with an anxious Jacques at my ankles (my baby was so feeling me, then again, he’d been present through my festival of sobbing last night so he couldn’t miss my mood hadn’t shifted all that much).
I opened the door to exactly who I expected.
Knox, tall and handsome in his green button-down, faded jeans, brown boots and sling.
“Okay, right. We fucked up—” I started.
That was as far as I got.
Jacques woofed with delight and circled us exuberantly as Knox put a hand on my belly, pushed me back, entered my apartment, and closed the door behind him.
Ummmm…
I wasn’t sure I was good with him being in my space.
Us agreeing we needed to simmer down and keep our shit to ourselves, yes.
Him being gorgeous after gutting me (again…and then again) and being in my apartment…
No.
“I think—” I started again.
“My mom left us when I was eleven.”
My teeth clacking together rang in my ears, I shut my mouth so hard.
“No note. No goodbye ice cream cone. No tears. No tantrums. No fighting for custody. No phone calls or visits after the fact. She effectively disappeared, except she sent us hundred-dollar bills on our birthdays and a fifty at Christmas. And the bitch thought she could get back in there when she tracked me down after I got out of the military.”
I stood stone still and said not a word.
But I listened.
Hard.
“On the one hand, I get it,” he stated. “Dad was a dick. He was a criminal. She didn’t sign on for that life. He was a plumbing apprentice when they got married, though also a dealer, he just didn’t tell her that part. I’m not privy to his trajectory to who he is today, and I don’t give a fuck. But she wanted nothing to do with it. They fought all the time. Loud. Bitter. Ugly. Sometimes, he’d backhand her. It was not a healthy environment. She had to leave. But when she did, she left us all behind, and except for bullshit reminders of what she took away when she was gone with those totally bullshit gifts she sent, she didn’t look back.”
When he quit talking, and it didn’t seem like he was going to start again, I asked, “Do you want a drink?”
“No, I want you to fucking get this,” he stated tersely.
I pressed my lips together and nodded.
Because, God help me, I wanted to get it.
I wanted it all.
And I wanted it bad.
“She was the one who took me to junior football practice. Or drove me up from Tucson so we could catch a Diamondbacks or Suns game. When she left, my Uncle Jack did it. Dad didn’t. Dad wanted nothing to do with it. But Uncle Jack was into sports, like me. I used to walk to Uncle Jack’s house for Monday Night Football or to watch the World Series. Being with Uncle Jack was the only respite I had after she was gone. And then Uncle Jack got whacked when I was fourteen.”
Oh God.
His hits, they just kept coming.
“Knox,” I whispered, but that was all I had.
I mean, what else could I say?
“Mom was also the one who made us sit and eat dinner like a family every night. Dad might not be at the table, but all her kids were. She was the one who got in Crew’s and Poe’s faces when they were acting like assholes. She was the one who made my favorite, devil’s food cake, for my birthday every year. Also on our birthdays, she sat us at the head of the table, even if Dad was there. He had to sit somewhere else. ‘King for the Day,’ she called it. Or queen, if it was Gypsy. And by the way, Gypsy’s name was supposed to be Kayla. Dad filled out the birth certificate. Mom was pissed as all shit he changed her name. Their deal was, he picked the boys’, and she wasn’t hip on our names. Dad thought they were badass, but she wanted us to have normal names people wouldn’t give us shit about. But bottom line, she got to name a girl. She finally got her girl, and he took that from her too.”