Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82893 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82893 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
“No, my summers when I was old enough were spent helping my mom on the farm.”
“You guys had animals?”
“Horses, a few cows, a couple of goats, and some chickens. When Mom got sick, she sold them or gave them to her siblings because she couldn’t take care of them anymore.”
“Where was your dad?”
My insides seize while my hands around my coffee mug tighten.
“He hasn’t been in the picture for years, not since I was young.” I push up to stand, then turn and start up the stairs.
“Elora.”
“I’m going to go shower,” I tell him over my shoulder, heading into the cabin without waiting for him.
I hear him close the door while I take my empty mug into the kitchen and place it in the sink. When I turn around, I find him watching me, but he doesn’t say a word or ask me any questions even though I can see he wants to ask a million of them as he follows me with his eyes.
“When I get out, I’ll help with breakfast,” I mumble, walking to my bag to dig out my shower stuff and something to wear.
Getting his quiet “sure” in return, I walk into the bathroom, then shut and lock the door before I start the shower.
Taking a seat on the edge of the tub, I stare at the door, wondering if I should have just told him about my dad. About how he’s in prison for murdering two women and the abduction and attempted murder of another.
I should.
I should give him the choice of staying or going, knowing I have the same DNA as the worst kind of monster, a liar, and a master manipulator.
But the thought that he’ll look at me like so many others have scares me. For years after my dad was arrested, people were convinced my mother knew what he’d done and was somehow involved. She wasn’t, of course, but they all wondered how you could not know there was a monster living under your roof and sleeping next to you every night.
And since I was almost a teenager, they wondered the same thing about me or were worried I would turn out to be just like him, that whatever evil lived in him was dormant inside me. I was never invited to sleepovers or birthday parties, and I could count the number of friends I had on one hand. Tyler was one of the few people who ignored the rumors and didn’t fault me for who my father was. My relationship with him got me through those difficult teenage years when it felt like the whole world was against me. Something I will always appreciate.
Letting out a breath, I stand and quickly get undressed, telling myself that when I get out of the shower, I’ll tell Roman about my dad and leave it up to him if he wants to stay or go. It should be his choice. I don’t feel right keeping that kind of information from him, not when he’s been so kind to me.
I don’t rush. I kill time washing my hair, shaving my legs, and everything else, then I get out, wrap my hair in a towel, and get dressed. When I finally open the door, the smell of food greets me, but all it does is make my stomach churn.
“Well,” Roman starts, glancing at me quickly from where he’s standing at the stove, “I couldn’t figure out how to make an omelet, so I made scrambled eggs mixed with all the shit that was in the bag, which kind of looks like the same thing.”
“Can we talk about something?” He turns his attention fully toward me, the smile on his face faltering while his eyes scan over me. I don’t know what he sees, but his expression instantly goes blank. “When I’m done, you can decide if you want to stay or go.”
“You don’t have to tell me anything, Elora.”
“I think I do,” I murmur, walking over to the counter where he’s standing, my fingers tapping nervously at my side. “I want to tell you about my dad.”
“Elora—”
“Please,” I say quietly.
“All right.” He shuts off the stove.
Crossing his arms over his chest, he leans his hip against the counter, giving me his full attention. I swallow, looking into his unusual-colored eyes, and hesitate. While I was in the shower, I went over and over in my head exactly what I would say. Now, I’m not so sure how to get the words out and soften the blow at the same time.
Then again, I don’t think there is a way to make anything I’m about to say better. With a deep breath, I rip off the Band-Aid.
I tell him about my father, about how he murdered two women and was going to murder another, but she got away and was able to identify him. I tell him about how he’s in prison for two consecutive life sentences without the chance of parole and how I haven’t seen him since he went to jail. I tell him everything. About how my dad was caught right before my mom was diagnosed with cancer and how so many people were against us, which made things so much harder, especially when she needed support more than ever before. When I’m done and he just stares at me, I feel my nose start to sting, but I refuse to give in to the urge to cry.