Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Tucking myself between the tree roots of my old friend, I pull my knees to my chest, rest my forehead on her bark, and let the floodgates open.
Old pain, new pain…it all comes out.
The grief comes in waves. I mourn my restaurant and the little shelf where I felt cramped, but brave. I mourn my regulars, who I doubt I’ll ever see again, and my record collection, the one Chuck the jerk face returned just in time for it to be destroyed by the storm surge.
I cry for the father who loves me but can’t accept me, and for the mother who accepts me but refused to fight for me. And for all the fresh starts I’ve poured my heart and soul into, only for them to end in disaster again and again.
And for Parker, who’s no doubt sick to death of watching me run away.
I get it.
I really do.
But I don’t run because I want to run. I run because it’s dangerous to stay. If I stay, I’ll lose control, lose faith that I’m going to make it, lose…myself. At least when I run, the mess is mine.
And when I’m alone, no one can hurt me.
Yeah, but no one can help you either, Mack, a voice that sounds way too much like Parker’s whispers in my head.
I sigh, sniff, and look up and…
There he is.
Standing just a few feet away, watching me with an expression that says the cat—and all my daddy issues—are out of the bag.
Chapter
Ten
PARKER
Ifind her under a tree in the park, curled up between the roots of a giant crepe myrtle in her yellow sundress.
She has her knees pulled up and her arms wrapped tight around them, balled into the smallest version of Makena, which is pretty damned small.
With a personality like hers, it’s easy to forget how tiny she is sometimes, but sitting on the curb with her dad’s arm around her, she looked so little.
She looks even smaller now, after he kicked her while she was down.
And yeah, I get that he was only trying to help, but fuck…
It’s like he has no idea who his daughter is. I mean, has he met her? I’ve never encountered a more stubborn, pigheaded person. Or one more committed to living her dreams. Her dreams are her reason for being. Take those away from her and you have…
Well, you have this.
A deeply sad woman, imploding with grief while pink petals rain down on her hair. And no, she’s not broken. Makena still has a rally or five left in her, there’s no doubt in my mind about that, but the kind of future her dad wants for her?
It would break her. Destroy her. Leave her a shell with no firecracker left inside.
And I, for one, think that would be a fucking tragedy.
The world needs firecrackers.
Just like it needs gluttons for emotional punishment, who keep trying to pet the wild horse, no matter how many times it runs away.
I stop at the edge of the tree’s shade, leaning on my crutches, trying to figure out what to say to make this better. But I saw what was going on beneath the surface back there. Her dad is terrified of Makena being Makena. Probably has been for her whole life. Consciously or not, he seems to have a deeply held belief that she is an irrational person who makes terrible decisions, and the only way to keep her safe is to bully her into being more like him.
But she can’t be more like him, even if she wanted to be. So, she pushes back. And when the pushing back is met with doubling down on how ill-equipped she is to function…she runs.
I mean, what other choice does she have?
If someone looked at me like I was a tragic disappointment every time I didn’t follow their script, I’d probably develop a sprinting habit, too.
I thought I had it bad, with my parents who couldn’t give two shits what I did most of the time. But now I’m thinking having one who cares too much, in all the wrong ways, would be even worse.
She looks up with a sharp sniff, blinking as she spots me across the grass. Her forehead furrows, and for a second, I think she’s going to tell me to leave her alone. But then she sighs and shakes her head. “Fine. Yeah. You’re right.”
“I didn’t say anything,” I say, picking my way across the uneven ground. “But I will say that chasing after you is going to be a lot easier once I’m cleared to ditch the crutches on Monday. I could probably ditch them now, but I’ve committed to religiously following doctor’s orders.”
She sniffs as I lower myself onto the grass, close but not too close, “That’s smart. You don’t want to fuck around with your recovery. It’s important.”