Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 95906 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 480(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95906 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 480(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
“Micah,” King said.
“He reminded me of Lex, King. Skinny and scared. He didn't belong there, but I couldn't care about that. I had to leave him. I had to walk away.”
This time, King didn't respond but I heard him sigh and it was that same “I get you” sigh. But it didn't make it okay. Nothing did. I studied the little house. I'd lived in a lot of places as a kid, but they’d looked like palaces compared to the dive I was looking at.
“What happened to Brady?” King asked.
“I never asked. But the rumor was that I left him paralyzed. Would've been easy enough to find out how bad it was, but I didn't want to know. I didn't want to care. That fight jump-started my career.”
My shoulders and arms began to ache as I clung to the steering wheel, so I forced myself to draw in a few deep breaths. I managed to let go of the wheel and leaned back against the supple leather seat but little of the rage and tension left my body.
“I don’t believe that,” King said, his voice hard. Hard enough to have me looking at him in surprise.
“It’s true—” I began, but my brother cut me off.
“I know you, brother,” King declared. “You might have tried not to care, but I don’t believe for a second that you just walked away.”
Before I could argue, he added, “We always said Lex was the heart of us, but you, brother, you are our soul.” Clearly agitated, King snapped the clip into his gun with unnecessary force. “Prove me wrong, Con,” he said. “Tell me you never gave that little boy and his brother another thought.”
I tore my eyes from my brother and looked at the house. “I began sending them money,” I admitted. I shot King a glance, expecting to find a know-it-all look on his face, but there was nothing but hardness. “But that was all I did.”
“It’s more than most would do,” King murmured. “It’s sure as shit more than I would have done.”
I didn’t call King out on his bullshit. He was a hard-nosed son of a bitch but when it came to those weaker than himself, especially kids, he was as softhearted as they came.
I sighed and said, “I could only afford to send a little at first but as my winnings grew, I was able to send more. But I was too much of a fucking coward to put my name on the checks.” I shook my head and numbly whispered, “I thought it was enough.”
“Con—”
Before King could attempt to placate me with words that would only ring hollow, I reached my hand out and dropped the small price tag I’d taken from Rory’s dress onto the dashboard of the car. I’d been holding the damn thing off and on for days, so it was bent and worn but there was no missing the distinctive red and white logo.
“Harmon’s,” I said softly, though it wasn’t necessary because I knew King recognized exactly what the label was from. He and I had been regular customers of the secondhand shop. As kids, we’d been excited to get clothes from Harmon’s because we hadn’t known the difference between new and used, rich and poor, the haves and the have-nots. But as we’d gotten older, we’d learned to hate those clothes. They’d represented something we’d been trying to outrun our entire lives.
“He had to buy the little girl a dress from fucking Harmon’s for her father’s funeral,” I whispered. “If I’d sent more money or done something—”
“Enough!” King snapped. His hard eyes landed on me. “None of this is your fault! You did what you had to do, and you don’t fucking own whatever story is happening in that house!”
His anger sparked my own, though I knew I was using it as an excuse to let out some of the rage I’d been directing at myself since the moment Micah had walked away from me in that cemetery.
“What about you?” I snapped. “You think I don’t know that whatever you did for that money fifteen years ago did something to you? Changed you?”
King’s jaw tightened and I swore I saw some color leach from his face, but none of that stopped my runaway mouth. “You might not have come home with bruises, King, but don’t tell me you don’t have scars. And don’t pretend you just put it behind you and moved on. Not to me. We’ve been through too much shit together for that.”
I felt out of breath by the time I finished spewing my shit at King. When I played the words back in my head, I felt like even more of a coward.
“King—”
“Don’t, Con. Just don’t,” he responded quietly.
I nodded and dropped my eyes to my lap. I studied my hands. They looked nothing like the bloody, bruised ones from that night so long ago.