Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 97525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
"Hi Mister Brant." She extended a solemn hand.
Brant shook it with equal seriousness. “It's nice to meet you, Hannah.”
I turned to the others. "You guys must be new. I'm Lana, and this is my friend Brant."
"I told them all about you," Hannah said with importance, her thin arms tight around my neck.
"Well ... tell me about them then, since you know everything," I teased.
"This is Samuel and Ann. They're from Boatland."
"Oakland," the boy corrected, glancing at his sister.
Buster nudged my leg, and I reached down to pet his head. "Welcome to the house, guys. Which one are you in?" The houses were named after states, HYA's goal to have fifty built within the next five years. We were currently looking at a lot in Sacramento for more homes, as well as spots in San Jose and Los Angeles.
"Georgia. Though they said we have to split up next month." A worried glance shot between the two faces that were too young to have these concerns.
"Don't worry about that." I readjusted Hannah on my hip, her weight tiring. "By next month you guys’ll have so many friends here you'll be begging for time away from each other. And the separation will only be at night. Days and meals are all free-for-alls between homes, so you guys will have lots of time together, if you want it." I gestured to Brant. "I've got to take Mr. Brant inside, but I'll see you guys again before we leave." I gently set Hannah down, giving each newbie a high five before looping my fingers through Brant's and pulling him toward the main house, a large structure on the rear of the property, where meals were served, sleepovers and movie nights held, and general bedlam occurred all day.
"This place is amazing," Brant said, glancing around, the basketball court filled with action, a bevy of girls sprinting around the corner of a nearby house and flying past us.
"It is." I nodded. "And all made possible by your donation."
"Maybe I should increase it."
I grinned. "That may have been my ulterior motive in bringing you here."
He pulled me to a stop. "You don't ever need motives, Layana. Anything you want, anything that makes you happy ... just ask."
"I know." And I believed it. I truly believed he would give me anything—do anything to make me happy. "But I figure you might as well see the impact of your money." I continued forward. "Come on. I want to show you the main house."
We toured the common areas and the work areas, then stopped on the third-floor deck, an open area scattered with outdoor furniture. To our right, a group of teenage girls laid across hammocks, their voices low. From this height, you could see the entire campus, and we leaned against the railing and looked down on the common lawn. "How many kids live in this house?" he asked.
"None. This is the social hub, where everyone eats, plays, and studies. The houses are set up for breakfast and sleeping, little else. That system seems to cut down on temper tantrums over who is in which house."
"I can't imagine that the kids would ever want to leave. This place is like summer camp.”
I watched as Trenton, one of my favorites, climbed onto the first limb of a live oak. "Every kid wants love. To have parents whose focus is on their happiness. We can't do that for a hundred kids. We try, but we can't. They'd all leave this in a heartbeat for a chance to feel wanted and loved."
"You weren't?"
I laughed, pushing on his arm. "I was talking about homeless kids, not my parents. My parents gave me everything I ever wanted."
"Money and presents don't equal love. I live in a huge house that doesn't hold a bit of love. I know what emptiness feels like. It's one of the reasons I hate living alone."
"My parents loved me." The words had to be true. Parents love their children; they just choose to show it in different ways. Mine chose to love by expectation.
"I love you." He turned to me, and his hands settled on my waist. "You, Layana Fairmont, are impossible not to love."
I scoffed. "You don't know me enough to love me.” Thirty years old and it was the first time a man, including my father, had ever uttered those words. It was a sad truth, one made possible by my talent to alienate every man other than the one who stood before me, pulling me closer, owning me. I had given him my heart and was terrified at the prospect of what that might mean.
"I love you. Every dark and light piece of you." He lowered his mouth, but I stopped his kiss, pressing a hand on his chest.
"There's no kissing on campus," I whispered. "HYA policy."
He frowned. "Don't I hold an office of some sort in this organization?"