Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
He kissed my lips again. “Take all the time you need.”
“There is one thing you should know,” I told him.
He frowned. “Okay.”
“You’re my home. And I realized that when I thought I was going to die. You were the only thing I didn’t want to lose. Nothing else mattered but you.”
He kissed me again, then whispered, “I love you too.”
Thirty-Five
The next month, things all began to make sense. I didn’t feel like I was being kept out of something or being lied to. I convinced Blaise to let me get a job. It was working for him, of course, and I was enjoying it. I didn’t clean stalls at Hughes Farm, but I did start helping with bookkeeping and running the stable offices. Blaise moved Empire back to the farm too.
Trev came around some, but he treated me differently. He no longer flirted or tried to get me alone. We talked, and he made jokes about me and Blaise. It was nice to feel like I fit in. Garrett brought my mom’s pictures to me and told me to keep them. It was Eli’s albums, and he said my grandfather would have wanted me to have them.
Angel came downstairs more often now, and she watched me quietly more than anything. I thought we were getting closer to a breakthrough—or maybe it was wishful thinking. I wasn’t giving up on that though.
Blaise had left early this morning to handle some family business, and I showered and dressed before heading upstairs. When I reached the top step, there was a large envelope sticking out from under the door. I opened the door, then picked it up. My name was written on the outside. Thinking Blaise had left it for me, I smiled and went to the kitchen. It was empty.
I walked over to the island and leaned against it while I opened the envelope. There was a thick stack of papers inside, stapled together, and photos further down. I pulled them out and set them on the counter. The first thing I saw was a picture of my dad and Cole. That hurt. I’d struggled with the fact that he wasn’t my father and Cole wasn’t my brother. I had decided that just because they weren’t my biological family, they’d still been mine. Our life hadn’t been easy, but there had been good times. Especially when I was younger. Before Dad got further into the world of alcohol and Cole wasn’t using.
Picking them up, I flipped through the photos, seeing they were all of my dad and Cole. Some together, some alone, some with people who looked shady. There was one of my dad with a needle in his arm, and I froze. My stomach twisted, and I put it down.
What was this? Blaise wouldn’t have left this for me.
I grabbed the papers and began to read. They were copies of text messages at first. From my dad to some number I didn’t know. Then between Cole and Dad. My world started to spin as I began glancing through the papers. Then, there was the one that would shatter the only happiness I had ever truly found.
The papers and photos fell from my hands, and the image of my father and brother with gunshot wounds to the heads, lying on the ground, stared up at me.
I shook my head.
The words below it read, It’s done, boss.
I covered my mouth, but the scream came anyway. Moving away from it, my entire body began to shake.
I was in a nightmare. A horrible nightmare. I had to wake up. That wasn’t how my dad and Cole had died. They were in a car accident. My dad was drunk, and he ran a Stop sign. I had been told all of this by the sheriff.
I heard my name, but I was staring at the floor as another scream came from me.
Gina called my name again, and I looked up at her, feeling frantic. She had to know what this was. She could explain it to me. I wasn’t seeing this. This was not real.
“Maddy, breathe. I called Blaise,” she said calmly.
Blaise. She had called Blaise.
I pointed at the papers and photos on the ground. “That’s—” I cried. “That is my dad. My br-br-brother. That’s them. They were in a car accident. They were,” I said, shaking my head. “But that’s them. There are gunshot wounds in their heads.”
“Shit,” she whispered and bent down to pick up everything.
“Someone followed them. They had their text messages. They had pictures of my dad shooting up. He didn’t do drugs. Not like that.”
Gina glanced up at me, and I saw pity in her eyes.
Why was she looking at me like that?
“That was them,” I said more for myself than anything. Because that was my dad and brother. They were dead by gunshots to the heads.