Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 162003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 810(@200wpm)___ 648(@250wpm)___ 540(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 810(@200wpm)___ 648(@250wpm)___ 540(@300wpm)
“I wish I could help him,” I said. “I would do anything to help him.”
“I know.” Nicole clasped my hand in hers. “That makes two of us.”
The room fell silent as we both concluded there was nothing further to say on the subject. Nothing else that we could do. Nicole resigned herself to that fact when she spoke again.
“I’ll call Matt for you.” She stood up and walked towards the door. “You can crash with him, or he can give you a ride to the airport. Whatever you need.”
“Thank you.” I nodded. “And Nicole?”
“Yeah?”
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for what my father did. For how he hurt you.”
“I know you are, Brighton.” She gave me a weak smile. “But it really is time for me to move on.”
***
Matt’s truck idled at the curb of the drop off zone as silence engulfed the cab.
“I’m sorry about everything,” he said in a gruff voice. “If I’d known what Ryland was doing, I would have put a stop to it. But Nicole always worried she would bear the brunt of it, so I didn’t push the issue. I didn’t want to hurt her.”
“She cares about you.”
He nodded, finally admitting it.
“But you were Jackson’s friend,” I continued. “So she thinks it’s wrong.”
“Or at least that’s what Ryland tells her,” he grumbled. “I felt that way too, for a long time. But I know that Jackson wouldn’t have wanted her to be miserable like this. He wasn’t that kind of person.”
“Not like Ryland,” I whispered.
“He never used to be that way either,” Matt said. “But he lost his entire family. And he hasn’t dealt with it at all.”
“I love him,” I admitted through tears. “Despite it all. All I can feel is this giant hole in my chest. I keep wishing we could get past this somehow.”
Matt reached over and hugged me, which was better than any words of false comfort. He knew as well as I did that wasn’t likely to happen.
“I better go,” I croaked. “Or I’m going to miss my flight.”
“Come back, Brighton,” he said with a sad smile. “Figure out a way to come back home.”
***
As the gravel crunched beneath the retreating taxi’s tires, I released a weary sigh.
My mother had uprooted us as children from the city of Chicago and probably made it about seventy miles south before the car broke down. Because this is where we ended up, the land where hopes and dreams came to die. It was desolate and barren, and just about everyone who lived here had a tragic story in their background. It was a silly dream to think I could ever really escape this place.
My life flashed before my eyes. A life in the Buena Vista trailer park. Born here and doomed to die here too. That is after I spent the majority of my life chasing pennies in my chosen profession of waiting tables or stripping. The highlight of my life would be the pack a day smoking habit I’d need to develop just to get by.
I swallowed past the pain in my throat and tugged my suitcase into action. I might have a broken heart and an empty future, but at least I had my family. A brother who I never really knew at all and a mother that would likely be dead soon. Yeah, I still had that.
The lilac bush where Ryland and I had first kissed taunted me with her blooms as I walked up the rickety steps. I didn’t bother knocking, and the door wasn’t locked as I swung it open with the familiar tweaking of the handle.
Brayden sat on the sofa, a beer in his hand and an incredulous expression on his face. His suspicion turned to relief when he saw my bags, and a moment later he enveloped me in the warmth of one of his hugs. But it didn’t feel warm anymore. It felt hollow and empty and filled with lies.
“I knew you’d come back,” he whispered. “I knew you wouldn’t turn your back on us.”
I pulled away from him and crossed my arms, staring up into his dark brown eyes.
“It’s time to tell me everything,” I insisted. “And I mean it, Brayden. Not a single part left out.”
***
Brayden kicked his heels up on the end table, his eyes trained on a passing cockroach as he took another puff of his cigarette. It was a disgusting habit, one he must have picked up in prison. We'd always complained as kids about how Norma-Jean refused to smoke outside, and we had to go everywhere smelling like a dirty ash-tray. But now, as the lines on his face had changed from a boy to a man, so had his demeanor.
He was rough around the edges, and a lot harder too. He was blunt with me in a way he’d never been before, and a hint of resentment lingered in his eyes every time he looked at me. I would have to ask him about it later.