Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 96850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
I saw him first.
I saw him first.
Those four selfish words clogged Eve’s windpipe momentarily, memories of Madden’s blue eyes and safe, babbling brook presence distracting her from more important thoughts. Such as, Skylar was her only friend. A true friend. The only person who’d ever stood up for her at school against the boys who hounded her constantly about the club, asking uncomfortable questions that made Elton’s jokes sound like a lullaby. If Skylar had a crush on the new guy, she wouldn’t get in the way of that.
Anyway, he’d probably be gone in a week.
Their friendship, she really, really hoped, would last a lot longer than that.
“Um, yeah,” Eve forced out, feeling winded. “Who wouldn’t go for you?”
“Really?” Skylar looked back at the house. “I can’t go back in there. Wait. Yes, I can. What should I say? Maybe I should just practice pitching. That’ll impress him.”
Eve smiled with as much warmth as she could muster. “Show him your breaking ball, babe. He’ll be putty in your hand.”
Put him out of your head.
He’ll be gone soon enough.
But time was determined to prove her wrong.
Chapter Two
Present Day
As long as she lived, Eve would never judge a mother. Not ever again.
Raising kids was a physical and mental assault. A war waged in the trenches, but instead of grenades, the weapons were half-drunk cups of apple juice and unflushed toilets. Being cute didn’t excuse the noise they emitted, either. The screeches that erupted mere moments after peace had been achieved. The Encanto soundtrack slapped, but it didn’t slap this much. She wanted to slap herself at this point to make sure she could still feel something. And she’d only been parenting for three weeks. Three.
By the time she hit six weeks of this warfare, she’d look exactly like the Barbie she stepped over now on the way to the bedroom shared by Lark and Landon.
Fried, wearing a shirt as pants, staring into the void.
Yet somehow, she could still love her niece and nephew with her entire being, despite them trying to land her in an early grave. Exactly why Eve hadn’t even hesitated when Ruth, her sister, had come to Eve and asked her to take temporary legal custody of the children while she put herself through rehab, plus a comprehensive recovery program. Her friends had organized an intervention and pooled resources to send Ruth where she needed to go.
I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. Or if I’ll even succeed.
I’ve tried before and failed. I could very well fail again.
Please be sure you want the kids, because they could be with you for a long time.
Another one of those demonic screeches rent the air.
“No,” Eve said in a strangled whisper, stepping over the threshold into what used to be her yoga space that doubled as an office. “No more screaming.”
“He keeps pretending to bite me,” Lark exclaimed, pointing at her twin brother.
Landon folded his hands together in his lap and giggled.
“Okay, but what that scream communicates to me is that he has not only bitten you, but completely severed a limb from your body.” Holding on to her patient, even tone, Eve continued. “Before you scream, please ask yourself, is it worth it? You know? Do I need to pierce the sound barrier over fake biting?”
“Yes,” Lark responded with a solemn nod.
That’s the other tragic thing about kids. They didn’t pick up on sarcasm.
What a waste.
“You guys promised me you would start getting ready for school.” Eve cataloged the room through a twitching eye. “But it looks like you’ve just been breaking crayons. How did we get here?”
“Landon wants to wear a chef’s hat to school.”
“Can I?”
“Yes. As long as it isn’t the only thing you wear. I don’t see why not.”
“He wears it all the time,” Lark said, throwing up her hands.
Landon chomped on some air. “So?”
Lark screeched.
“Ah!” Eve wagged a finger at her, like an old schoolmarm instead of a twenty-two-year-old woman who owned a burlesque club. “Not warranted, that screech. Not even a little.”
“If he wears his chef’s hat, I’m wearing lipstick.”
“Fine. Let’s go. Clothes on. Breakfast is almost—” Ah shit. Eve backed into the hallway, sniffing the air, already knowing the scent of charred sourdough was going to greet her. And it did. “Breakfast is definitely burned. I’m going to put down two more pieces of toast. You two better be dressed by the time they pop up. Go.”
Okay, fine, they were cute when doing what they’re told. Lark turned and opened one of her designated drawers, which was built into the bottom of the IKEA bunk bed Eve had put together over the weekend. Landon snagged yesterday’s jeans off the floor, even though Eve specifically remembered him sitting in a puddle of syrup in them. Know what? She’d just pretend she didn’t see that.
The smoke alarm went off.