Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 102970 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102970 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
“Please don’t fight,” my mother whispers. “Not now. It’s been a long day.”
“Long day?” I gasp at her words. “You didn’t even come to Dad’s memorial.” Since he was cremated, we just had a service at the funeral home. It was small and quick. It was all wrong. He deserved so much more than what George’s cheap ass paid for.
She closes her eyes as if pained by my statement. “I’m …”
“Don’t apologize, sweetheart.” He leans down and kisses her forehead. Then he rises to his feet and comes over to me. I want to turn, but my feet still won’t move. He comes up to me, grabs my upper arm, and yanks me out of the room, softly closing the door behind us.
“You son of a …”
He slaps a hand over my mouth and shoves my back into the wall. I glare up at him as he hovers over me. “I told you that I control everything. It would be in your best interest to shut your mouth.”
I shove him off, and he steps back. “I don’t know what you plan on doing, but it’s not going to happen,” I promise him.
He stares at me. I glare at him. It’s a standoff. But we both know that he has me at a disadvantage. I need to do something. My mother may have left my father, but he had something to do with it.
Without another word, I run down the stairs and out the front door and fall into the driver’s seat of my car and pull out my cell. I call the one person I want to see right now. The one person who will understand that I don’t want to discuss my feelings.
“Emilee? Hey, girl? Are you okay?” The words rush out.
It’s been so long since I’ve reached out to talk to her. My bottom lip begins to tremble, and I run a hand through my tangled hair. “No.”
“Where are you?”
I begin to rock back and forth. “I’m sitting in my car outside of my parents’ house.”
“You’re in Vegas?” she asks surprised.
I nod to myself. “Yeah. And I need a drink.” My eyes look at the clock on my dash, and it’s not even noon yet. I think the day I’ve had warrants some day drinking.
“Okay. Where do you want me to meet you at?”
That’s why I called her. Jasmine doesn’t ask very many questions, if any. She’s a ride or die chick. And that’s exactly what I need right now.
_______________
It’s after midnight when I stumble back into my parents’ house. I’ve been out all day with Jasmine, and I’ve drunk more than my weight in alcohol. My vision is blurry, and my mind foggy, lips numb. I’ll regret this tomorrow.
She never once asked me a single question. Jasmine can talk the legs off something, and I was thankful for that today. Every conversation we had was about her. Every toast we did was to our past. The future never even thought of. Jasmine is the live in the now kind of girl.
I shut the door quietly and then begin to tiptoe the best I can up the stairs. Halfway to the first floor, I have to stop and remove my heels. I don’t want to lose my footing and go tumbling down. I crack the door open to my mom’s room and look inside.
She’s passed out on her back. Her hands folded over her chest. She looks dead, and if I wasn’t so wasted, my chest would hurt. I look at the cot that lies next to her bed, and it’s empty.
That’s odd. Her nurse stays overnight in her room with her. That’s one of the stipulations her doctor gave her by getting to come home—twenty-four-hour care.
I close her door and head toward my room.
“Emilee?”
I come to a halt when I hear my name being called out behind me. It’s him. Is he living here? Spinning around, I trip and fall into the wall.
“Are you fucking drunk?” he demands at the end of the hall. His hands are propped on his hips as though he’s my father about to ground me because I came home intoxicated and after curfew.
“That’s none of your business,” I slur.
“Office. Now.” With that, he turns and walks down the stairs to the first floor.
Rolling my eyes, I push off the wall and grip the banister to make my way back downstairs. Who knows what the bastard wants to talk about? Entering my father’s office, he stands behind the desk.
“Sit,” he orders like I’m a fucking dog.
I hate doing as he asks, but my feet hurt, and my legs are tired. I fall into the chair like a brick sinks to the bottom of the ocean. “What?” I blow some loose strands from my face.
He stands there, his hands still on his hips. He’s dressed in a black button-down and black slacks. He looks like he just came home from the office—my father’s office.