Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 96292 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96292 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
“How long were you with that couple?” he asks.
“A few weeks. I made the mistake of going into their son’s bedroom and playing with his toys.”
“Then what happened?”
I pull down the neck of my shirt and point to a surgical scar. “Broken clavicle. Fell down the stairs.”
His gaze stays on my chest even after I let go of my shirt. “She pushed you down the stairs?”
“No. I tripped and fell while making a mad dash because I was afraid of what they might do. Experience taught me to assume the worst.”
His eyes shift, meeting my gaze and blinking slowly. “Our son’s name is Seth. He’s alive, but we haven’t heard from him in seven years.”
“Why?”
“Because”—he clears his throat and turns in his chair, so he’s staring out the window instead of at me—“his two-year-old son died on our watch.”
Jesus …
I run my fingers through my hair and lace them behind my head. Then I open my mouth to respond, but I have nothing. Less than nothing. What’s the response to that? It’s okay? No. The kid is dead. It’s not okay.
“Some things feel unforgivable,” he mumbles just above a whisper. “This is one of them. It’s not a misunderstanding or petty fight. He lost everything. And now we have too.”
I slowly shake my head and stand. “Mr. Rawlings, I-I can’t make this better for her or you or anyone. Whatever you think I can do, I can’t. I’m not your son. I can’t bring your grandson back. There is nothing special about me. You know this. I’m a fuck-up just trying to keep my head above water. And everything that comes out of my mouth is stupid, and probably hurtful even if I don’t mean for it to be. So this isn’t going to work. I can’t be—”
“Flynn,” he says, turning toward me. “Have you ever heard the phrase, throw anything at the wall until it sticks?”
I nod.
“Well, that’s what I’m doing because I’ve lost my grandson, daughter-in-law, and my son. I can’t lose my wife too. But that’s what’s been happening. Every day, she continues to disengage from our life together. Every smile feels forced. But for you, she’ll get out of bed. She’ll go to Pilates and matinees. And for your new female friend, she’ll make tea and wear her best smile. A real smile. I’m not asking you to replace anyone we’ve lost.” He sighs slowly, shaking his head. “I’m just asking you to give her a new focus. And I don’t care if you don’t know what you’re doing. Just keep … doing it.”
Screw the money. I don’t want this. My whole life has been doom and gloom. One tragedy after another. What if I give him back what’s left of the money and ask to call it even?
“If you think I’m doing a good job, then why the stupid Pilates getup? Why give me shit about the cat?”
He offers a sad smile. “Maybe you’re my muse too.”
I wrinkle my nose. “How’s that?”
Shrugging, he opens his laptop. “When I look at you, I see how far I’ve come.”
“Uh, thanks. I guess. I’m not sure it’s a compliment.”
“It’s not.” He smirks, tapping the keys. “But I wish my dad would have joked around with me.”
“I don’t need a dad,” I say.
“Maybe I’m not doing this for you.”
I sigh. What do I say to that? “Mrs. Rawlings told me to ask you if you want me to do anything else today. I think I’ve depressed her enough that she’s done with me.”
“Bring the girl back over. That’ll cheer her up.”
“Now? Her parents are in town. She’s bikini shopping with her mom.”
Rupert eyes me over his keyboard. “Lucky you.”
I roll my eyes.
“Whenever she’s free is fine.”
I nod and turn, but then I make the stupid decision to face him again to ask for his advice when deep down I know he will not offer me anything helpful. “How long did you wait to have sex with Mrs. Rawlings when you met her? If, uh … ya don’t mind me asking.”
“Why do you ask?”
“Jesus, we just went over this.”
He chuckles, closing his laptop again. “I waited until our third date.”
“So like … a couple weeks or so?”
“No. When we met, she flat-out told me she wouldn’t even consider having sex with a guy until at least the third date. So I asked her to breakfast before she had class. Then I waited outside of her apartment with a bag of fried chicken for lunch—date number two. And that night, I took her for pizza and roller skating—date three.”
“Three dates in one day?”
His grin oozes pride as he nods.
“So you had sex with her that night?”
“Bingo.” He winks and makes a clicking noise with his tongue. “When you know, you know.”
“What happened to taking it slow so a girl knows you’re interested in more than just her body?” I ask.