Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 40635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 203(@200wpm)___ 163(@250wpm)___ 135(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 203(@200wpm)___ 163(@250wpm)___ 135(@300wpm)
I never once missed my father's money or his mansion. I had everything I needed with Grayson. If there's a chance, no matter how miniscule, of recapturing that…don't I owe it to us to find out?
I was brave enough to leave everything behind for him once. I threw caution to the wind and followed my heart. And for a brief moment in time, we had everything. At least, I thought we did. Things don't seem as clear anymore. There are so many pieces missing, so much I don't know. Maybe he did leave. Maybe he's telling the truth, and he did wake up in a hospital with no memories. I don't know.
But I have to find out. For Brinley's sake. For my sake. And for his. Because regardless of where he's been…he's here now. And when he left my office yesterday, he didn't walk away like a man who spent all those years separated from me willingly. He walked away like a man who was losing everything all over again.
And if anyone can understand how that feels, I can. I do.
"Do you know where I can find Grayson?" I ask Riley, praying that, whatever happens, I'm strong enough to protect Brinley. If my heart ends up crushed, I'll take that risk. But I can't risk hers. She deserves to know her daddy. And she deserves to be loved. I'll protect her. I'll always protect her.
"Promise not to shoot the messenger?" Riley asks in response, nibbling on her bottom lip.
My brows furrow in confusion, and then I groan as realization dawns. Of course. "He's in the parking lot, isn't he?"
She bobs her head in a nod. "In his defense, I don't think he's stalking you," she says quietly. "I think he just doesn't know what else to do with himself right now. It's either this or drink. And he picked drinking yesterday."
Chapter Seven
Priest
"You gotta stop sitting outside her office, brother," Memphis says into the phone. "Go home. Get some sleep. Go to practice."
"You missed practice yesterday too," I remind him.
"Yeah, well, that was yesterday. It's a brand-new day. Have you been home at all?"
"She is my home," I growl.
Memphis sighs. "Yeah? You think a judge is going to buy that when you get hauled in front of one for stalking?"
"I already told you motherfuckers, I'm not stalking her," I mutter, staring at the chrome and glass building like I can see her through the damn walls. "I'm just keeping an eye on her."
"Right, since she won't let you close," he says, the same shit I told him, Riley, Cash, and Dalton Grady yesterday. Don't think they believed me but fuck it. I don't really care. My home is where she is. It's where my daughter is. And since I'm not allowed to be with them, this is the best I can do.
I know how it looks. I realize how fucked up it sounds. But I just spent years away from her without my consent. Now, she's right here again. I can't just drive away and pretend that everything is fine. It's not fucking fine. I haven't been living for six years. I've been in purgatory. The gates are finally open. I'm finally free. Heaven is right fucking there.
And I'm supposed to just…what? Turn around and take a goddamn seat?
No. Hell no. I'll sit in this fucking parking lot or outside her house until she's ready to talk. At least then, I'm there if she needs me. Because I fucking wasn't for so long. And there's not a goddamn thing I can do about it.
I can't go back and undo it. I can't erase the years she spent raising Brinley alone. The motherfucker who destroyed our lives is dead. I'm six weeks too late to rip his fucking throat out. I can't even piss on his rotting corpse because it's six feet under. All I can do is what I'm doing. Memphis doesn't have to get that. All he needs to do is leave me the fuck alone and let me do it.
"This isn't healthy, brother," he says.
"Yeah, well, neither is opening a goddamn titty bar because it's what your dead best friend wanted to do," I snap. "But you don't see me giving you shit about your shit, now do you?"
"Jesus Christ," he mutters. "You talk to him. I fucking quit."
"Hey, Priest. What's up?"
"Fuck. Not you, too," I groan, cursing up at the ceiling of the SUV when I hear Brantley Hill's voice. He's the damn record exec who signed me to Winter's tour. Except…he's not like any record exec I've ever fucking met. His life is as big a mess as mine. "What do you want?"
"Just checking in, man," he says. "You good?"
"I'm fucking fine," I snap.
"Yeah? Is that why Memphis is stomping around here, cursing you out? Because you're fine?"