Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 132097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 660(@200wpm)___ 528(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 660(@200wpm)___ 528(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
Out of my parents, Dad was always more invested. The one who occasionally asks me to have a drink with him as I update him about my life.
Mom checked out a long time ago. Hell, I wonder if she completely dissociated the day I was born, even if she went through the very basic emotional motions when I was a kid.
Playing the perfect parent is just acting.
Is it all a lie?
She can say she loves me, but I know she regrets ever conceiving me. Dad, he accepted me.
And Gramps—
Where to begin?
He felt like the most grounded, most present, most honest and real family I had. Now, I find out that was a lie.
He wanted to be a part of my life.
And that should be a good thing, but now it’s tinged with the accusations Mom threw at him. Dad said they were unfair, but were they?
Gramps always had a special connection with me.
The girls were perfectly welcome, my sister and Cleo, but they’d rather have story time or go to the beach than fish or hike through the woods.
Margot never cared to learn how to prep fish and raw lobster on the beach, and Cleo was too little. They were more interested in sunbathing on the yacht than swimming. And my sister had Hattie by her side for company.
At the time, I thought it was only logical Gramps would default to keeping me company, seeing as I had no one else.
But now, looking back, everything feels like a house of mirrors.
Distorted and ugly.
Margot, she was left to her own devices, hanging out with Hattie so often because Gramps was more interested in hanging out with me.
But that wasn’t just because I was his grandson.
I was his own personal apology.
His penance.
His personal crusade.
If I kept going like the moody, rudderless fucking punk I was, the disaster Gramps created would be total, and he couldn’t have that.
Christ.
And even when I was a teenage asshole—getting into trouble, smoking, screwing off when I could with girls even when Gramps warned me not to and put Holden on my ass, Gramps never punished me.
Not really.
He handed out advice and let me find my own path.
The opposite of how he was with Mom.
I’d always thought he wasn’t trying to be a parent, but now I know better.
He was just trying to be a better father than he’d been with Mom. He was trying to make it up to this family and the universe by making sure I didn’t detonate my life.
It’s fucking twisted.
And all that time, he lied to my face.
He couldn’t tell me who and what I was.
I don’t know what to do with this information now. All I know is I can’t be in my parents’ house anymore. I need to go.
I need to get away and never look back.
21
ALL LOST WORDS (HATTIE)
Bang!
The rattling gunshot jerks me awake from my sleep on the sofa.
Another nap, seeing how I haven’t managed to squeeze in more than a few hours of shut-eye at a time ever since I came back to Portland.
Something always wakes me up.
Sometimes just the window or Ares getting up to stretch and slurp some water.
Sometimes it’s just that heavy feeling in my chest.
This time, it must be a storm.
I wrap the blanket around me as I sit up, groggy and disoriented.
For a second, I forget where I am. My brain expects to see my old apartment.
Instead of piles of books on cheap particleboard shelves, I see another sofa, just as large as this one, and a wall-mounted TV.
High ceilings with fine wooden accents.
A vase of flowers I had freshened up because it looks more cheerful.
Ethan’s house.
I don’t know why I came back here.
Everything was such a blur yesterday—or was it today?
I spent the whole flight stressing, and then the driver picked me up and brought me back here, so I stayed.
Ares needs company.
His wet nose nudges my hand and I stroke his long, warm ears.
“Hush, big boy,” I whisper. “Just a little thunder.”
But although rain pelts the house with a steady patter, there’s no sign of thunder or lightning.
I listen carefully until I hear footsteps instead.
Closer, closer, pinging my nerves with panic.
Crap, there’s a security system here, right?
I never gave it a second thought before settling on the sofa because I didn’t want to sleep in Ethan’s bed. No intruder should get in unless they know the code or disarm the system.
My heart crawls up my throat and adrenaline pounds fear through my veins.
My breath catches.
Soon, I’m fumbling with my phone, making sure I have 9-1-1 on lock just in case, when a silhouette appears in the doorway.
Lightning rips then, illuminating him in the flash.
My scream catches in my throat.
No stranger, though.
I’d recognize that figure anywhere.
All broad shoulders, bristling muscle, the way he holds his arms by his sides like he’s spoiling for a fight with a mountain lion any second.