Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 89145 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89145 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
That was good. He’d get some sleep. “Nice.”
Ellie and Trip would likely wake up early, usually between seven and eight, though they tended to entertain themselves until they got hungry at around nine.
I eyed the text, assuming Colby would understand the message was from me. I didn’t use my name, or anyone else’s. I’d give him the protocol and rules tomorrow.
“I think the first and most important thing I need is for us to settle everything that happened in the past,” I heard West say.
I pocketed my phone again, and I was all ears.
“You changed and became defensive, and you apologized for it,” he said. “I finally understood why you went through those changes, and I apologized too. I feel awful for how lonely it must’ve been not to have me by your side.”
I nodded with a dip of my chin. “And you confronted your old man.”
“Yes. And what a shitshow that turned out to be,” he muttered. “I don’t know why I’ve been living in denial about them—all of them. It’s not like I haven’t witnessed their arrogance and entitlement before. My sisters are vapid, my mother is narrow-minded and judgmental, and my father likes to stick his head in the sand until he feels the need to drop a bomb somewhere.”
The quickest summary to wrap up an ugly fallout. But we were done fighting about it. We’d stepped outside the same vicious circle we’d battled in, and we were exhausted. Pain lingered here and there, and those were simply the scars we wore. The fights, the accusations, the energy draining out of us, and the heartbreak had knocked us down. We had to live with that until we’d healed.
“Then there’s the fact that you lied to me for two years about your so-called work,” he said.
“I’m ready for your wrath.” It wasn’t my intention to make it sound like a joke. I was genuinely ready, and I deserved every bit of it.
“I don’t have any left.” He stood there by the counter, both hands resting on the surface, and he merely watched the coffee machine. “I’m upset about it. I hate how things turned out. I hate that you lied to me for so long. I feel like an idiot whenever I think about you coming home with some bullshit story about what you did that day.”
I swallowed a gut punch of guilt.
“At the same time, I acknowledge the lifestyle I set up for us,” he went on tiredly. “I can see how you’d feel pressured into contributing more than what would be normal, considering the wealth I was born into, considering how my family made you feel…and considering how so many mistreated you.”
“I appreciate that you can see that.” More than I could express, really. “And it’s all true. But I made a shitty choice, one I don’t have excuses for. I…I think I was embarrassed by how I let other people’s thoughts about me matter that much, and it made me feel like a fraud, ’cause you were always open about how you loved that I was brazen and had a no-fucks-given attitude.”
He exhaled a tired chuckle and nodded to himself, gaze still stuck on the dripping coffee.
“I did love that,” he murmured. “But I clearly didn’t see the consequences of such a personality in my world—and when you tried to talk to me about it, I wouldn’t listen.”
It was so fucked up for both of us to be on the same page for the first time in years. I legit didn’t know how to act or feel. Like, we were suddenly seeing things from each other’s perspective, and it erected phantom bridges to replace all the ones we’d burned. They didn’t feel safe enough to walk on yet, but I could picture them.
West grabbed two mugs and filled them with coffee. “I’ve been thinking about a conversation I had with Malina when our problems started to overwhelm me,” he said. “She called me a slum tourist in a good-natured way—but it stuck. It’s essentially true. Or it was.”
Slum tourist?
He actually looked a little embarrassed. “How I was drawn to the man from the wrong side of the tracks, and I wanted him within the safety of my own comfort zone, with…you know, a nice house, better school districts…et cetera.”
Oh.
I huffed a laugh. “Yo, that’s legit.”
I’d never attached a label to it, but that was funny. Slum tourist.
Back in the day, West and I had talked about something similar. He’d wanted me, and I was the product of everything he’d balked at. He couldn’t imagine living in a low-income area, he’d been horrified when looking up the schools, and he’d nope’d and fuck-no’d himself out of the conversation when seeing the crime stats.
We’d looked specifically at three neighborhoods where we could buy an actual house. For that reason, we’d skipped my old hood, ’cause it was all apartments and condos. The area’s little center was still nice, with our church, older buildings, and a square with bodegas and pubs. It was actually safe there too. Just very little to do for kids.