Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Ugh. I just wanted to forget it now. The whole day had been a blur, starting with the horrific sight of Coach throwing that duffel bag right before it exploded.
In the moment, I hadn’t been able to process it.
Beckett let out a breath and inched back far enough to look at me. He brushed his thumbs under my eyes, across some cuts and scrapes along my cheek, and I sniffled for the millionth time.
“So, I hear your uncle’s here.”
Oh God.
“Like I said,” he went on, “we have three hours of daylight, and we can’t do anything until it’s dark.”
And…?
“We’re doing this now,” he said patiently but firmly. “I’ll go get Ryan, and we’ll—”
“No! Are you c-crazy?” I blurted out. “What I need is to get my shit together so I can pull my weight. The last thing we have time for now is some family drama that makes me weep like a baby.”
He smiled ruefully and narrowed his eyes. “It’s a weep-worthy situation. You’ll have three hours to cry it out. You can shake your head all you want, but I don’t think for a second you can pull it together with him around.”
But what would I even say? I could barely string two thoughts together, much less speak coherently.
The idea of Ryan coming over here put so much pressure on my chest that the coward within me took the wheel. I wanted to grab on to the nearest excuse and fuck off.
“You’re ready, Leighton,” he murmured. “I know you’re scared—and I know why. But you seem to have forgotten one thing.”
I sniffled and glanced at him before wiping at my cheeks again.
He cupped the back of my neck and smiled sympathetically. “You can still get to know your dad. Through them. Through their stories and memories. Their photo albums. They knew him—and they can fill in so many blanks for you that you’ll feel your old man standing right next to you.”
Jesus Christ, that one punched me right in the gut.
My bottom lip quivered and I was downright terrified, but I wanted it. I wanted to see him clearly in my mind. I wanted to know his voice. I wanted to know his opinions, what’d made him laugh, and what music he’d listened to. God, I wanted it with every fiber of my being.
“You wait here, okay?” Beckett put the helmet on me once more and lifted my chin. “If the best time to do something was earlier, when is the second-best time?”
“Now,” I choked out. And I nodded once. Twice. Okay. This was happening.
“Attaboy.” He ducked down and pressed a firm kiss to my cheek. “I’ll be right back. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want. I can do it until you’re ready.”
“Okay, yeah—” I definitely nodded now, ’cause yeah, words weren’t gonna happen. Not so Ryan could understand me.
Beckett walked off, and I blew out an unsteady breath and tried to move around a little. Roll my shoulders, shake my legs a bit, hopefully get rid of the prickling sensations in my fingers and arms.
I’ll never meet you, Dad. But I wanna know the man you were.
I clutched my stomach with one arm and bit at a cuticle.
Fuck, I was so nervous.
My stomach wouldn’t settle, and I still wanted to run far, far away. But when push came to shove, I knew—if they agreed to get to know me—that whatever memories they shared of Dad would be worth so much more than the stories my mom had concocted to comfort me.
Meeting Beckett had made me want something real.
I was ready to let go of my threadbare security blanket.
I exhaled shakily.
Less than a minute passed before I heard voices coming closer. I heard Beckett say something that made Ryan chuckle. And then they were close enough.
“Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad,” Ryan replied.
Fuck, I hoped not.
“Nope, definitely not bad,” Beckett said.
I quickly wiped my hand over my face once more, and I hoped I wasn’t too blotchy and red.
Where was the camo face paint when you needed it?
Ryan eyed me with a curious expression, and Beckett came up to stand next to me.
I swallowed nervously.
“You want me to run an intro?” Beckett murmured.
I nodded, unable to form words.
“All right.” He cleared his throat and turned to Ryan. “First time I met Leighton, he came into Hillcroft because he was looking for his dad, who might’ve applied for a job there. This was about…six years ago?”
I nodded again.
“Right. So, Leighton was eighteen. He’d just lost his mom to cancer. And you could say he was a bit lost.”
“Or a lot,” I mumbled.
“Or a lot,” Beckett echoed. “Thing is, he had very few leads and had no idea how to find his dad. They’ve never met. What he did have was an old Hillcroft business card with my name scribbled on it. But I figured out pretty quickly that it must’ve been my old man. His name was Bo too.”