Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
“Who the fuck is Garrett?” Jace deadpans.
“Blondie’s boyfriend,” Penny chimes in, waving her hand between Samantha and Dad. “Keep up, convict.”
Dad scowls. “Samantha is not my girlfriend.” Then, to Jace he says, “Here. You can stay here.”
I shoot Roux a questioning look. Her amber eyes plead with mine. She wants her dad to be close by and for him to have a chance.
“We just moved in, though,” I croak out. “There’s nowhere to stay.”
“I think we just became bedmates, sis,” Penny states. “At least with this big, scary convict here, it’ll keep that piece of shit Ryan away.” She shrugs like having this dude come live with us isn’t terrifying.
“Who’s Ryan?” Jace asks, his glowing eyes locking on me.
“The fucker who ruined my daughter’s life,” Dad snaps. “If I ever see him again, I will—”
“Don’t finish that thought,” Samantha bites out. “Too many witnesses. If you did, later on down the road, I’ll have a helluva lot harder time getting you off.”
Jace and Penny both snort.
Children.
“Garrett says he has a connection with a construction company. They take on ex-convicts and other riff-raff like you,” Samantha tells Jace, grinning. “You take the job. Swing your hammer around. Get paid. And when you get on your feet, for the love of God, go find your own place so you’re not freeloading off these poor people.”
“Sammy here is a hardass,” Jace reveals. “Always bustin’ balls. Gary, does she bust your balls too? Are you into that sort of kink?”
“Daddy, can we keep him?” Penny asks, an evil glint in her blue eyes. “I always wanted a pet convict.”
Dad scrubs his palm down his face. “Samantha, I’ve got this. Get to your date. Thank you.”
She waggles her finger at Jace, winking at him, before she sashays out of the loft. Dad motions for everyone to sit. Roux sits down between her father and Penny. Dad and I each take an armchair.
“Ryan Cunningham is a cop’s kid. He’s an abusive prick who not only hurt my Charlotte, but he tried to rape her.” Dad delivers his words with fiery venom. “If you see him, watch out. He’s fucking trouble.”
All humor fades from Jace.
His amber eyes cut over to me, slicing me open with one gaze. “That true, sugar?”
“Unfortunately,” I admit.
He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You have my word, little girl. I’ll look after you.”
Dad reaches over and squeezes my hand. “Now that we have that out of the way, let’s talk about some house rules.”
Jace and Penny both laugh again while Roux and I cringe.
“Rules, Gary? It’s like you forgot who you were talkin’ to.” Jace winks at me and then nudges Roux with his shoulder. “But don’t worry. I won’t fuck with your shit, steal your shit, or ruin your shit. I will, however, give you shit, but that’s all for shits and giggles.” He points at Penny, then me, and finally Roux. “But this right here? These girls? That shit’s off-limits.”
“Agreed,” Dad mumbles.
“Cool. You can do the old man blood pact and virgin sacrificing later,” Penny states and then smacks Jace’s thigh. “Pet, you want breakfast? I can make us some bacon.”
Dad rolls his eyes and waves them off. “Whatever. Don’t burn my kitchen down.”
Cal
I need to get to work, but I can’t leave. Not now. Not when Terrence is finally making progress. Yesterday, after I bailed from Charlotte’s bed, I spent all day at the hospital. My boy struggled hard coming to terms with what had happened. Trying to make sense of who he was and who we were. Slowly, recognition of Rhetta, Tierra, and myself came back, but he couldn’t remember the accident itself. The physical therapists worked with him, having him do small exercises, but today they plan to try and get him up and walking some.
Because the accident crushed in part of his skull, they had to perform a decompressive craniectomy. After they removed a bone flap, they refrigerated that shit for months while the swelling went down. Once it did, they performed a cranioplasty to replace it a few weeks ago.
Now that he’s awake, he’ll endure more therapies, including occupational therapy, speech therapy, and he’ll have to see a neuropsychologist. All just to get him to function like before.
Glancing over at the clock, I decide I can chill with T for fifteen more minutes before I have to leave. He eats his breakfast slowly, a permanent scowl on his face. I try not to stare at the scarring on his head. It’s something that was so easily overlooked when he was attached to all the machines. Now, they glow like neon signs, reminding me he almost died.
Time passes silently. I’m afraid to speak. Yesterday when I tried, he yelled at me. He yelled at everyone. I know he’s not himself, but I hope he’ll come back to us soon.