Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 70940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
I swallow, and my chest aches.
Right.
It’ll kill me.
Eventually.
“And the chances of it being cancer?”
He purses his lips, and then says, “Tumors of this sort are usually benign, but we have found malignant ones. We won’t know until we go in and test it, however your blood work has been exceptional and we aren’t able to find a spread of cancer anywhere else in your body, so that’s a very good sign.”
“Is there a way to make it smaller without surgery?”
He nods. “There are ways, yes, but as I said the location is risky. Even if we make it smaller, which is definitely an option, we’re still going to have to go in and remove it. My advice would be to do it before it grows much more. We can look at radiation to shrink it, if this is something you’d like to consider. Usually, though, we take it out and then follow with radiation to remove the remaining tumor. That would be the option I would suggest, if any.”
I exhale.
“I’ll think about it and we can discuss it more with the surgery team when I get back for my next appointment. I won’t be gone long and then we can discuss the next step. Thanks doc.”
“You’re very welcome.”
I turn to walk out, and he calls, “Oh, and Briella?”
I look back at him.
“Make sure you do tell your family for their support, it is important.”
I smile, weakly, then nod.
We’ll see about that.
1
NOW - BRIELLA
I lift my sunglasses up and place them on the top of my head as I glance toward the tattoo shop that once I loved hanging out in. King’s Ink. Once, it was run by my mother’s husband, King Jr, who was also the President of local motorcycle club, King’s Descendants. The club that was passed down from his father, King Senior and so on.
I loved this shop when I was about fifteen. Gosh, I used to come in here and sit on the chairs and watch King tattoo people. He would spend hours drawing designs and forever putting those designs on people’s bodies. I loved the way the tattoo gun sounded, the way the shop always smelled clean, and the way it strangely felt like him. Growing up here, it wasn’t so bad.
Until it was bad.
And everything changed.
I swallow the lump in my throat as I approach the door. I know Alarick runs the shop now. I also know he runs the club. When King Jr died, we all knew Alarick would step up. I often wondered growing up if he’d pick a different path. His father could be a dangerous man and that life could be tricky, but Alarick took his place, like his loyalty was stronger than his desire to change the world he lived in.
I wonder, even to this day, why my mother picked King Jr to fall in love with. I remember the first time I met him as vividly as if it were right here, right now. I remember thinking that there was no way this was our new family. There was no way this man, standing in front of me, his body covered in tattoos and piercings, his beard long and thick, was my new step-father.
He was. And I grew to kind of love him.
With him came the entirety of his club.
Plus his two kids, Alarick and Sissy.
They were both older than Magnolia and me. I was only ten when I met them, and Magnolia was nine. Sissy was fifteen and Alarick was seventeen.
“Well, well, the prodigal daughter returns.”
I spin around at the sound of a female voice and see Sissy standing behind me on the footpath. My heart races as I take her in. She never liked me. God, no, she hated me with a passion. She was jealous and angry and a troublemaker. She made my life hell, even when I tried to stay the hell out of her way. I knew coming back here would mean I had to face her, I was just hoping she wouldn’t be the face I saw first.
“Sissy,” I murmur, crossing my arms and narrowing my eyes as I take her in.
Not a great deal has changed in the last five years. She would be nearly thirty now, and she still looks like she’s twenty-five. They got great looks; I can’t take that away from them. Her hair is dark and long, heavy with curls. Her body is tall and lean, her breasts big, no doubt fake, and her eyes the color of pond algae. But don’t let that turn you off, they’re beautiful and they set back perfectly in her olive skin. She’s beautiful, and she knows it.
God, does she know it.
I glance at her perfectly manicured nails as she crosses her arms, making her breasts jut out. Yep, definitely fake.
“What, dare I ask, brings you back to town after all the trouble you caused five years ago? We didn’t even know if you were still alive, if I’m being honest. Not that we cared. Life is better without you here. Why are you back?”