Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 89934 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89934 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
But first, he had to survive the torture of digging through his brain and setting it right.
Without the mind-numbing peace afforded by heroin.
Lock wasn’t sure he could do it. He had no confidence in his ability to succeed, but the counselor seemed to, and he was there, so what could it hurt to try?
He walked back into the room, where, thankfully, no one paid him any attention. As his ass hit the seat, he realized that the pain in his chest had dulled to a manageable ache for the first time since Deanna took that fatal dose of meth.
I’m coming back to you, Caleb, bent and twisted as hell but hopefully still whole.
CHAPTER ONE
HALLELUIAH! OLIVER WAS gone.
Brenna noticed it the moment her foot hit the marble floor in her foyer. The air floated around her with a lightness that hadn’t been present when she’d left for work that morning. Arrogance and bullshit no longer permeated every inch of the space. The house smelled fresher, cleaner, and more like the way it had ten months ago before she’d invited her new fiancé to move in.
The place was hers and hers alone, as she should have left it all along.
“Oliver?” she called out as she set the mail on the small wooden table near the entrance. Might as well be certain.
When the empty house didn’t reply, she smiled. Months of weight, stress, and worry lifted off her shoulders and evaporated into the ether. Her low heels clicked as she walked across the tile, down the hall, and into the kitchen.
Only silence greeted her.
Hell yes.
Her lips twitched into a grin, which spread across her face until it reached a full-blown smile. She snaked an arm behind her back and under her cream-colored blouse until her fingers connected with her bra clasp. A quick flick of her wrist followed by some wriggling had the oppressive garment off. After pulling it from her shirt sleeve, she dropped it on the kitchen counter. Then she toed off her shoes, leaving them on the kitchen floor as she padded barefoot to the refrigerator.
Of course, she’d put it all away later, but it could stay there for a few hours. No one would complain about the less-than-perfect state of the house. The guys wouldn’t stop by without being invited and crash her restful evening by hanging out with Oliver and spewing their snobbery, judgment, and misogynistic stories all over her home.
God, she hated the guys.
They were a bunch of pretentious pricks who never had a nice thing to say about another human being outside their exclusive circle. Their wives and girlfriends were even worse—unhappy women who only smiled because they paid to have their facial muscles frozen that way. They wouldn’t be caught dead without designer labels and flashy cars—the kind to attract attention, gossip, and jealousy.
None of them were evil people per se, but they just weren’t her people. By the time she realized it, she was engaged to one of them and waking up unhappy every day.
Oliver came into her life when she’d hit a low point. As an estate lawyer, he’d been integral in sorting out the messy details following her parents’ untimely death in an automobile accident. Over time, their relationship drifted from professional to personal to sexual. For a time, she thought she’d found the love of her life. He’d been sweet, attentive, available, and a little dazzling with his fancy tastes and luxurious way of living. It wasn’t until they’d lived together for a month or so that she realized his enjoyment of the finer things in life was a mere facet of his intolerance, arrogance, and constant criticism.
Brenna was a simple girl—a beer and bonfire while wearing cutoffs and flip-flops kind of girl—whereas Oliver wore alligator shoes and Rolex watches with a side of beluga caviar. They could have made it work if both had respected their differences and supported each other’s interests, but Oliver didn’t take that route. He looked down on her choices and budget-friendly life with scorn and contempt. Before long, his disapproval turned vocal and frequent. At times, it felt like she couldn’t do anything right in his eyes, so she started to doubt herself and take on some of his interests.
It took him suggesting—more like demanding and her actually considering—that she sell the home she’d inherited from her parents and use the money to buy them a swanky one-bedroom condo on the beach before she realized they’d never work long-term.
Not only had she grown up in this house and only lost her parents two years ago, but she had put her blood, sweat, and tears into making the house her own. This home was her pride and joy as an interior designer, and she would never sell it.
Something Oliver knew, and she thought he’d understood.
He wasn’t a bad man, but they were terrible for each other. He needed someone who loved luxury and excess, while she needed someone more chill. Sadly, they’d let the relationship drag on so long that she only felt relief now that their engagement had ended. Oliver hadn’t been happy about the split, which surprised her considering his constant censure, and he’d let her know it with more shouting than she’d ever experienced. Little did he know, he only fortified her decision to break the engagement.