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)
He didn’t give her an actual choice.
The thick newspaper fell apart, pages falling to the floor as he brought the only one he cared about back to the couch, spreading it wide over Delaney’s lap. In the many columns of death notices, she found Jacob Dalton’s easily because after spending a handful of days at the cabin, she became accustomed to seeing his smiling face staring back at her from the many framed photographs on the walls.
The photo of Jacob chosen to be printed in the paper along with his obituary, if she had to guess, looked to be in the last five or so years. Older than a boy. Barely even a man. He kneeled between two large Mastiff dogs with a wide smile that said there was no place he’d rather be.
Beneath the photo were words that vaguely matched the obituary Lucas had spent a great deal of time writing before insisting Delaney read it over. As if she could find some mistake to point out like he hadn’t been the one to agonize over the placement of a goddamn semicolon.
Really, she had thought Lucas just needed someone to read it, and to know every word he put on the paper was true.
Except, a lot didn’t match, either.
Instead of the opening he wrote that told the reader that a heartbroken Dalton family was devastated to announce the passing of their youngest son after a brief stay at the Regional Hospital, the obituary simply announced the place and death with no mention of Jacob’s relatives at all. His living, and deceased, family were listed in the next sentence, as Lucas had originally written the small piece, but it lost the personal touch without the family’s note at the beginning. To rub salt into the wound that Lucas must have been feeling, at the end of the obituary, the request he had made for donations to FAR Canada—Families for Addiction Recovery—and the date and time of the public memorial for Jacob had been cut out as well.
A private memorial is to be held for immediate family, it read instead.
“Lucas,” Delaney started, not quite knowing where to start or how to apologize for the careless cruelty of the edited obituary.
“It’s all about appearances,” Lucas muttered, tossing the newspaper back to the coffee table without any sort of grace or patience. Delaney didn’t flinch at his show of frustration because she was more concerned how his tone twisted with pain. “That’s all my father gives a damn about—that nobody, or as many people as he can control, will know. Not his son, no. Jacob wasn’t an addict or a junkie, or useless and worthless. Not unless he needed something from Ronald, then he was all of those fucking things.”
“Lucas.”
She placed a hand to his forearm, squeezing to remind him that she was there.
“They didn’t have to do anything,” Lucas snapped, his hands and arms flying wide at nothing in particular. “Not one damn thing. I spent those last hours with Jacob making sure they wouldn’t have to do anything but show up next week, and this is what they fucking do?”
“Did your mother—”
“Who’d know,” Lucas interjected viciously. “If she did anything, it probably included turning her phone off, because everything else would be too much for her.”
“Hey,” Delaney tried again, tugging on the sleeve of his sweater.
It didn’t work.
Lucas booted the edge of the coffee table with the heel of his foot, sending it crashing across the living space, and into the reclining chairs. Pages of the newspaper scattered in no particular pattern to the middle of the floor.
Delaney froze at the aggression.
His anger radiated.
Had it been anyone else who acted out physically around her, then Delaney would have made it her first priority to get out of their way and presence immediately. A raising under the fast foot of a looming man who hadn’t been scared to boot his kids in the rear end if they didn’t move fast enough for his liking left her with a few, reactive scars.
So to speak.
Loud and angry usually set her anxiety spinning sky-high, but in that moment, she only saw the situation from Lucas’ perspective. She stayed rooted to her seat, unmovable and not a bit scared.
Grieving, he left his city.
Where he couldn’t be reached; a place that clearly brought him good memories and felt safe; and because of that, someone close enough for it to hurt on a deeper scale had used his distance and unavailability against him to get what they wanted where his brother’s death was concerned.
He should be mad.
So, she said and did nothing.
Delaney let Lucas stew in that anger beside her, vibrating and glaring at his cell phone, still attached to the booster, unplugged where it had landed by the wall. The scowl hadn’t eased from his features, but his chest started to rattle with every breath he took.