Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 45217 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 226(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45217 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 226(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
I can’t even notice how the veins bulge in his arms and chest. All I can do is rush forward and glare up at him.
“Dad was just in the garden with a gun and handcuffs.”
I’m panting, I realize, but I note the voice as if it’s distant and belongs to somebody else. I can form the words even as they come out strangled and terrified.
“I saw him. I didn’t imagine it. It was him, right down to his smile. He used to smile at me like that before the drugs… before he started… I can’t say it. He always apologized after.”
Jamie rushes to the window, his broad back rising and falling quickly with his fists clenched at his sides.
“What were you going to do, Patrick?” Jamie says gruffly.
Hearing my dad’s name in Jamie’s husky voice sends a shiver down my spine, and something else slams into me. Jamie doesn’t sound surprised. It’s like he believes me. The man he killed rose from the dead.
“Aren’t you surprised?” I snap. “Aren’t you going to tell me I’m completely nuts?”
Jamie turns, takes my hand, and strides to the bedroom.
“What are you doing?” I say, but my feet make me follow him.
Despite all this, some part of me still trusts him, but I shouldn’t. I should stamp on that so-called trust until there’s nothing left. I’m unsure why he gently guides me to the bed until I drop onto it. My legs turn to Jell-O, and I start gasping and panicking. The gun, Dad’s face, the smile… It all catches up to me.
I’m not sure what happens. Maybe I blackout, or it’s the stress, but I hear Jamie on the phone a few moments later.
“And you’re okay?” he says. “Yes, yes, that’s good. Do that. That’s the best place you could be.”
Jamie hangs up, glancing at the door.
“You have to explain,” I say, feeling like I’m finally able to speak. It’s difficult to push the words out, though. “Who was that?”
“My sister. They’re going camping with a few hunters, friends of my brother-in-law. They’ll be off the radar for a week, at least. Nobody will find them.”
“Is it…” I make myself say, “Dad threatening them? I don’t understand.”
“Just relax.”
He approaches me with his hands raised like he thinks I’m some wild animal who will lose it. I jump to my feet and wave my hand at him. Okay, fine, I lost it. Sue me. It’s not like I don’t have a reason.
“Don’t tell me to relax. That was Dad.”
“What did he do to you?” Jamie says.
“What?”
“Before I made the phone call, you said he hurt you.”
“I didn’t.”
“You implied it.”
He raises his hands, gently taking my shoulders. When he pulls me into a hug, I know I should rage against him, but I let myself savor it for a few precious more moments because we’ll have to end it after this. This is too much.
“He used to hit me sometimes,” I croak. “Don’t say anything about it. I don’t want to hear anything. It’s just a fact. It’s what used to happen when he was high. Never hard, but no, there’s no excuse. It never seemed like him, though. Always just this ugly monster who lived inside of him.”
“He…” Jamie holds me tighter. “Christ, I should’ve killed him for real.”
That snaps something in me. I grab Jamie’s chest and push him away.
“Explain, now! You said you’d tell me when your sister is safe. Well, she’s safe. Wait…”
How has it taken me this long to think of this?
“We need to call the police. There was a man in my garden with a gun. My dad, my dead dad.”
Damn it. The panic slams into me again. I sit on the bed heavily, holding my hands together, as wave upon wave surges through me. I can only sit here and tolerate it until it’s over. Jamie sits next to me, wrapping his arm around me. It’s twisted how easy it is to seek comfort in him, even if he’s the source of the pain.
“Explain,” I say once I’ve caught my breath.
“Your father was a drug dealer,” Jamie says.
“I know that.”
“A few months before they sentenced me to prison…” He pauses, sighing darkly. “I’m not proud of this.”
“Tell me,” I say, turning and looking up at him.
He stares down with the same expression he had when he told me he wished he could provide for me and ranted about his beat-up car. Shame touches him, breaking my heart and making me want to support him, but he’s been lying to me from the start.
“I injured my back while training.”
“Training?”
“MMA,” he says. “I’ve been doing it, on and off, my entire life. A bad injury had me laid up for days in the hospital. They gave me meds, and the pain went away, but it also filled this hole in me. I don’t know.”