Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 88064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
This is not the man I want to be. This is not the man I want Dawn to see.
This is what my father left inside me after years of witnessing his inability to control his temper. I want the ground to swallow me whole.
"His hand," Dawn says, shocked.
My palm is slick with warm blood.
"The first aid kit is there," Thomas says, steering me to the office so customers don't get to watch the rest of this mortifying show. Dawn hurries to grab the pack and follows behind us. I rest on the edge of the desk and stare at my hand, unable to meet Dawn's gaze.
"I'll do it," Thomas says, but Dawn must disagree because it's her small, gentle hands that raise mine to assess the damage. Skin split over bruised bone. It's a mess of my own making.
"I'll do it." I pull my hand back, but Dawn doesn't let go.
She takes antiseptic spray and covers the whole area, using a soft medical wipe to clean the wound. A large pad covers the ruined mess of frayed skin, which she tapes neatly into place. Thomas watches it all, not saying a word. Dawn doesn't comment either. Her silent efforts and gentle touch calm the rage inside me.
"That's it," she says. "I can't tell you it's better, but at least it's clean."
The shame that she witnessed my outburst feels hot on my cheeks, but she doesn't tell me I shouldn't have done it. She doesn't tell me I'm an idiot or that getting so angry is wrong. She doesn't judge me one bit.
Instead, she wraps her arms around me, awkwardly at first, until I widen my legs for her to step closer. She strokes my back and the place on my neck where my hair is short and soft as velvet. She soothes me until my heart rate has settled and my embarrassment has waned.
And inexplicably, I feel better than I have in years.
14
DAWN
Lachlan reminds me of me. That flash of anger that wells up inside like a storm you don't know how to tame. The burst of rage that ricochets outwards until you’re hurt, or worse, you've hurt someone else.
It's always there, and maybe I'm better at controlling it than Lachlan seems to be. Maybe I've had more practice at suppressing it. Or maybe I've found better outlets than splitting my knuckles against the wall.
I think of all the times I've swept everything from my bed or thrown a pillow across the room, needing to lash out. I've never hurt myself because of it, but I could have. The lack of control is there and the potential for the unknown a total blur in the red mist that follows.
In my arms, Lachlan is rigid as a board, his expression shame filled and mortified. But under my soothing hands, he relaxes.
Over his shoulder, I meet the eyes of Thomas, who's watching us with a clenched jaw. Concern for his friend rolls from him in waves, but there's more too. I get the feeling he's not used to seeing Lachlan soften for anyone. He's a man with an iron pole for a spine, and a seriousness that imbues everything he does.
But here, in the quiet of this space, Lachlan's posture is different. It's as though he's been peeled from his hard outer casing and allowed a softer middle to show, just for a minute.
Then someone clears their throat and I look up to find Mitchell in the doorway.
"What the fuck happened?" he asks. Lachlan stiffens and is on his feet in a flash, holding his injured hand just slightly behind his back, shielding his moment of weakness.
"That asshole says he's going to buy Cloud 9. Not that he wants to buy it, but that he will buy it and we will sell it."
"What?" Mitchell asks, confused.
"The insinuation is that he's important and powerful enough that we won't have a choice other than to give up our business. I told him where to go, but I don't get the feeling he's going away."
"Who is he?" Mitchell asks. Thomas hands him a card, the one from the bar.
"Jeffrey Barrow?" Mitchell seems unsure, but Thomas shakes his head.
"Jeffrey Barrow is a bigshot property developer. He's always on the news, shaking hands with politicians, signing deals to build monstrosities. Apparently, he has the planning departments in his back pockets. He's a big political donor. Things that shouldn't get approved always seem to go his way."
"Sounds like a prize asshole," I say.
"Sounds like someone we don't want to get involved with," Mitchell says.
"Sounds like someone it's best not to piss off, too." Thomas levels his gaze with Lachlan, who shakes his head.
"You think that keeping quiet is going to help us? Men like that smell weakness and devour anything in their path. Our only hope is that he backs down because there are enough of us to let him know we’re a force to be reckoned with."