Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 136507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
“Sometimes I still hate him for what he did to all of us,” she admits quietly, pulling away from her post to close in. She stops inches away, tipping her head back to meet my gaze, her jaw setting with determination. “And I won’t let the past get dragged back into our lives, so you need to tell me what tonight was about.”
“Let it go, Em. Please,” I plead.
“No.” Piercing green eyes scour mine for answers. Even in this shitty light, they’re mesmerizing.
I can’t help myself, reaching up to stroke a loose strand of hair off her face, leaving my finger to linger against her skin. “God, you are even more beautiful all these years later.” The words slip out unbidden, but I’ve never meant anything more.
“I …” She falters, her eyes squeezing shut as she reaches up to slip her hand over mine, weaving her fingers between them. Her touch is soft as she presses my palm against her cheek as if savoring the feel of it.
My thumb drifts toward her lips slowly, afraid to say or do anything that might break this moment. “Emery,” I force out. It’s barely a whisper. There are so many things I want to say to her right now, I can’t find a place to start.
The side door to the garage creaks open then and my father marches in. He stops short when he sees us standing by the boxes.
Emery jerks away from my touch, putting distance between us. “Hey, Holt.” She clears her throat as she studies the concrete.
“I didn’t realize you’d left the Bale House,” he says.
“Yeah, not long after Logan.” She offers a tight smile.
My father grunts, and it could mean any number of things. “I need a word with my son. Alone.”
I knew this was coming, but I would have liked more warning. I was so entranced by Emery, I hadn’t heard the truck pull in.
She seems to have collected herself from that brief vulnerable moment, her shoulders pulling back. “About Hank Murphy, I presume?”
His lips purse. “That’s right.”
“That’s why I’m here too. I want answers.” She glances between the two of us, decides something, and then strolls toward the back door she came in. Only she doesn’t exit. She pivots and takes the stairs up to my apartment, making a point of slamming the door at the top.
My heart spikes at the idea of having Emery in my private space, near my bed. I guess our conversation isn’t over yet.
But first I have to survive this one.
Dad’s boots scuff the floor as he eases in. “So, you know Hank Murphy.” It’s not a question, and my father’s voice drips with accusation. I’m sure he’s been stewing since witnessing that scene, thinking the worst about me.
“No, I don’t know him,” I snap, unable to control my temper. “I’ve never met the guy.”
“He obviously knows you.”
“Obviously.”
“You watch your fucking tone with me.” He stabs the air in front of him with his index finger. “I warned you about bringing trouble back to this family.”
This is getting out of control fast. I raise my hands in a sign of surrender. “I’m sorry.”
The move seems to catch him off guard.
A few beats of silence hang between us while we each take calming breaths.
“Did you tell Mom?” I ask quietly.
“Not yet. I have no idea what to tell her.” He leans against Jay’s truck, folding his arms. “What the hell was that about back there, because it didn’t look like a friendly welcome. And don’t you dare feed me the same bullshit you tried feeding her.” He nods toward the ceiling. “I won’t buy it. Neither will she, mind you. She’s way smarter than all of us. But I think I deserve an honest answer.”
“You’re right. You do.” This is a conversation I was hoping to avoid but tonight has ensured that’s not happening. There’s no point dancing around it either. “Mom always talks about that night like it was a one-off thing.” At the end of many letters, she would sign “Love always, Mom” and then add a variation of “I know it was a terrible mistake” or “Wrong place, wrong time. We’ll all get through this”—always an affirmation that Jay and I weren’t bad people; we’d just gotten caught up in a bad night, dragged along by a poor choice for a friend. She clung to that belief like a life raft in rapid waters. She needed it to survive. “But it wasn’t a one-off for Jay. He was in it, Dad.”
His brow furrows. “In what?”
I rest my elbows on a stack of boxes. “Drugs … guns … stolen shit?” I shrug. “I don’t know. But it was never about being in the wrong place at the wrong time that night. Not with Jay. He was in it with Ian, and they’d been doing it for a while.” I pause as my father digests the truth of what I learned years ago—Jay’d been stealing and dealing for a lot longer than anyone knew. Or at least, longer than any of us knew.