Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 108165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
“She was in the fire. Slade saved her. And that’s when he told her to take my car and get as far away as possible.”
“Did you …” Livy’s enthusiasm wanes. “I mean … was there something between the two of you? Or just a love of music?”
Jack stares at the floor for a few seconds, wondering if he should tell his daughter the truth. How will she feel about her father moving on from her mother?
“Dad?” Livy says softly.
He lifts his gaze. It doesn’t help that Livy’s the spitting image of Ryn. Telling her feels like telling Ryn. And who tells their wife, the mother of their only child, that someone else has made her way into his heart?
And does it matter now?
“Mom’s gone. She’s never coming back. If you found someone, she would want you to take another chance on happiness … on love.”
Jackson returns a thoughtful nod. There are too many people in the room for it to be so silent. “She was what I needed. And I think I was what she needed. But that wasn’t her life. It wasn’t my life. This is my life.”
Livy and Jessica share matching frowns.
“Luke, do something.” Jessica jerks her head in Jackson’s direction.
Luke narrows his eyes at Jessica.
“He’s not thinking straight,” she says through clenched teeth as if Jackson can’t hear her.
With a sigh, Luke eyes Jackson. “Would you like to talk about this with me in private?”
Jackson answers with a look. It’s the are-you-fucking-kidding-me look.
Luke shrugs at Jessica. “There you have it.”
“Steaks for the men, fake chicken for the ladies?” Jackson pulls steaks wrapped in white butcher paper from the fridge.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
FRANCESCA
Dear Molly,
Do you believe in an afterlife? I don’t. I think when we die, that’s it. We don't come back as a new person—no do-overs. Fearing death is weird. Don’t you think? It’s the fear of the unknown. But isn’t every day an unknown? We should no more fear death than waking up each day, walking out of our house, and getting into a car.
I heard about that video by the river. I’m sure it wasn’t planned. I bet someone just happened to see you get into Colin’s truck, and their curiosity got the best of them. I bet it was someone you crossed. How unfortunate.
I know it must have been embarrassing for you. If someone did that to me, and I lost my dad, I don’t think I would survive. I’d want a do-over.
I bet your mom’s struggling to keep it together. After watching her teenage daughter snort cocaine off a naked guy’s stomach and then losing her husband so tragically, I bet she’s struggling to keep it together. I bet she misses your dad. It has to feel nearly impossible to wake up each morning. But she does it for you. And now she has to watch you deal with the ramifications of being a sexually promiscuous drug addict who convinced her ex-boyfriend to kill himself.
Will she find time for her extra-marital affairs while finding a new home?
I wonder how often she must think of just checking out.
It has to be unbearable for her.
Just know that despite what happened with the leaked video, I forgive you for writing that letter to Steven. It was hard at first to move on from Steven’s death, knowing that you were responsible. It was hard to watch you not suffer the way I was suffering. But I take great solace in knowing that it will never end. You will always be that selfish girl who cares for no one but yourself. And in some ways, I bet the consequences of your selfishness feel like they’ve stolen your whole life.
I can barely see the paper, and the ink blotches are from my tears because I fucking forgive you. I forgive you so much that I don’t ever want you to feel like you’re not worthy of the air you breathe. I never want you to feel like your life is not worth living. I want you to own your mistake and move on.
It’s not okay to check out.
It’s not okay to take the do-over.
There is no do-over.
There is only DO BETTER.
Sincerely, Francesca
A month ago, I hugged Molly after her father’s funeral and handed her this letter (laced with her own words to Steven) before I walked away. Not one single word was exchanged. I needed to see the pain in her eyes. I needed to see a glimpse of real emotion.
It’s true. I don’t want her to die. I think a little evil resides in all of us. Molly’s had horrible role models. And the truth is… my brother was a terrible role model for Steven. He not only lost his job, but he also took up drinking like a retired banker takes up golfing. Lynn said he was drunk nearly every day before noon, about the time it takes to play eighteen holes. Then for his grand finale, he took his life most spectacularly… leaving his brains stuck to the backside of his goddamn garage for his wife and son to see. Who does that?