Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 141951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 710(@200wpm)___ 568(@250wpm)___ 473(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 710(@200wpm)___ 568(@250wpm)___ 473(@300wpm)
That, Lucas believed, should be obvious.
“Because not everything is about you,” he told Ronald, “and at least now I know the truth.”
Something his father couldn’t do.
Pride, ego, and image made a man like Ronald into the monster he would always be. There would be no struggle from this point forward in Lucas’ life trying to find a reason why his future would not include his family. If not for his mother giving him the pieces to a puzzle in the form of old photographs, he might have still walked away from today thinking there was something he could have done so none of this had happened. Or worse, had he believed that staying and shouldering the remaining baggage of his family’s lies could have fixed it all someday.
It wouldn’t.
None of those things were true.
His father’s shortcomings, every insecurity that came out in the worst ways, and even Ronald’s inability to be a father … none of those things would ever be Lucas’ fault, and that also meant he couldn’t fix them.
Really, his mother did Lucas a favor.
A sober childhood might have been nice.
This worked, too.
The tiny possibility that Penelope did care about her children might have come in the form of old family photos she kept hidden away until the secret wouldn’t hurt the living anymore—but that had only made Lucas more angry. Mostly at his father, and less with his mother.
Why did there have to be a reason their father hated them?
Ronald’s easy discardment and constant displeasure with his youngest son—not even his real son at all—made so much more sense to Lucas now, and he despised the man more for it.
And Lucas, well …
Now he had questions.
“Was I Mitchel Dalton’s illegitimate son, too?” Lucas asked.
“No, you just were the trap the bitch caught me in the first time around,” Ronald snarled back, slamming his palm against the desk as his anger finally spilled over. Lucas refused to rattle at the physical aggression because it meant nothing. Bullies lost a lot of air when poked back.
“He was right, you know,” Lucas said, already heading for the door but still pointing a finger at the coward behind the desk. “Your father, I mean. You are a worthless piece of shit.”
Don’t poke the bear, who?
Wrong move.
Ronald grabbed the closest thing he could that had any heaviness on the desk—ironically, a paperweight that had been his son’s, whether he realized it or not—and threw it without a second thought. Lucas barely dodged the moving projectile that flew past the side of his face and straight through the glass door that rained around his shoes.
So much for that new etching on the outside.
“Get the fuck out of my brewery!” Ronald, red-faced, bellowed.
So be it.
Lucas left the photos behind.
Whatever.
He’d already scanned copies—back and front, too.
Just in case.
Chapter 33
“Ta-Da!” Gracen proclaimed.
Delaney spun away from the display of jeweled and pearl-covered bridal hair pieces to find Gracen emerging from the mirrored dressing room. She laughed. “Are you going to show me a trick? Ta-Da,” she mocked jokingly.
Gracen stuck her tongue out, and then said, “Are we or are we not talking about my dress?”
Well, maybe Delaney had made her friend wait long enough. She had already seen the empire-wasted, silk and chiffon gown in screenshots Gracen sent during their many conversations about the upcoming wedding. The rouched, shimmery bodice of the sweetheart neckline bared most of Gracen’s throat and shoulders with thin straps while the layers and layers of delicate silk and chiffon making up the skirt pooled regally to the floor. More of that fragile, shimmery fabric hung loose in loops connecting from Gracen’s back to her index fingers so when she lifted or widened her arms, or spun like she did for Delaney to see the dress at a different angle, the fabric billowed out like a cape.
“Do you want to put the veil on and see it all together?” Delaney asked.
“I want you to tell me what you think,” Gracen stressed.
Delaney laughed, grinning big. “God, you look gorgeous. Malachi’s gonna die.”
Gracen did a little shimmy dance on the spot with a squeal that would surely draw the shop’s manager to the back of the store where the bridal section had its own corner away from the rest of the store full of rental tuxedos and a wide variety of prom dresses. Miss Cathy’s One-Stop Shop didn’t get its infamous name in their little valley town for nothing.
The one and only bridal—and really, formal—shop in town unless someone wanted to travel the forty or more-minute jot upriver to the falls, or across state lines into Maine, Miss Cathy’s it was.
Delaney, who had not been allowed to attend prom because it went against her family’s beliefs, never got the chance to shop for her own dress once upon a time. She did lie about needing to stay after school for extra help so that she could go with Gracen to pick out hers, however.