Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 102394 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102394 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
A block from the market, my phone buzzed, and my heart jumped. For a split second, I was sure it was her. But the screen lit up with Mom. I exhaled, disappointment settling in before I finally swiped to answer. “Hey, Ma.”
“Hi, sweetheart. Are you okay? I saw the news and got worried.”
“Yeah, I’m good. Sorry. I should’ve texted you back.”
“How’s Juliette?”
I frowned. “I don’t know. She didn’t answer when I called.”
“Have you spoken to her since you got back to California?”
“I have. She wasn’t thrilled about it, but she did give me a few minutes to apologize, at least.” I pulled into the grocery store lot and parked. “She’s seeing someone.”
“Oh, Wes. I’m so sorry.”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “It’s my own fault.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
“You mean about the guy she’s seeing or the article?”
“Well…both.”
“I’m not sure there’s much I can do about either.”
My mom let out a quiet sigh. “That doesn’t sound like the Wes I know. The one I raised never stood by while people he cared about fell apart.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“If you love her, don’t let her go through this alone. You might not be able to fix what happened, but you can show up. Even if she pushes you away, at least you’ll know you tried.”
I stared out the windshield, watching people walk by but not really seeing them.
“You always wanted to protect people,” she continued. “Sometimes protecting someone doesn’t mean throwing yourself in front of a bullet. Sometimes it means being there when they need a shoulder to cry on.”
I swallowed hard. “Yeah. You’re right.”
“Of course, I am. Mothers always are.”
I chuckled. “Thanks, Ma. I gotta go.”
Forgetting all about the market, I started the car again. My pulse climbed as I shifted into reverse and backed out of the spot. I wasn’t sure what I was going to say when I got there—if she even let me in—but I suddenly couldn’t get to Juliette fast enough. I hit the gas as I turned onto the main road, driving way too fast for a civilian. My thoughts were a mess as I merged onto the highway—Juliette in her kitchen, face streaked with tears, her mom crying alone back in New York, the smug look I imagined on the FBI agent’s face as he’d led Vince Ginocassi from his mansion wearing nothing but a bathrobe. He could’ve let the guy throw on a shirt, maybe a jacket, but no—the agent probably enjoyed stripping the dignity from his collar.
When I finally turned onto Juliette’s street, my stomach dropped. Two news vans were parked along the curb, satellite dishes on top. Shit. I hadn’t even thought about that. Of course they’d be here. Now that Juliette’s identity was public, it made sense they’d want a shot of the mob boss’s daughter looking broken.
I parked a half block away and stepped out, keeping my head down as I walked. Tommy stood at the front door, arms folded across his chest. As I passed the first news van, the passenger door swung open, and a woman jumped out carrying a microphone. “Sir! Are you connected to the Ginocassi family?”
I ignored her and kept moving to the house.
Tommy lifted his chin. “How you doing, Wes?”
“I’ve been better,” I said. “Is she home?”
He nodded once. “She know you’re coming?”
I thought about lying but decided against it. “No. And she might not be happy about it. But I want to be here for her.”
A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I was busy fending off the photographers, and you helped yourself inside the house. That’s the story if she gets pissed.”
“You got it.”
Tommy stepped aside, and I pushed open the door. Inside the house was quiet, with the faint smell of freshly brewed coffee. I found Juliette sitting at the kitchen table, hands cupped around a mug. She looked up, saw me, and her bottom lip began to tremble. I wanted more than anything to wrap her in my arms, but I also didn’t want to get my ass kicked to the curb the second I walked in.
“Hey,” I said softly. “I didn’t want you to be alone right now.”
Her face was blotchy, eyes puffy from crying. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Maybe not,” I said, meeting her gaze. “But I am. I’ll leave whenever you tell me to, but I know there aren’t a lot of people you can confide in.”
She swallowed, and tears welled in her eyes. “I feel so conflicted. If he did what they say he did, he should be in prison forever. But he’s my father, and I don’t want him to spend the rest of his life behind bars.”
“Of course you don’t. There’s no right answer when it comes to family.”
A tear slid down her cheek. “I keep thinking of when I was seven and he coached my soccer team. The regular coach had broken his ankle and had to have surgery, so my dad stepped in and took over the job. He had no idea what he was doing, but he hired the kid down the street who played on his college soccer team to come teach him the rules. He was out in the backyard every night for hours, even after it got dark, trying to learn the sport.” She smiled and wiped her cheek. “We were a terrible team, didn’t win a single game, but he kept trying.”