Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90827 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90827 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
I didn’t reply when he paused. As my legs began to tremble, I quietly lowered myself to my knees and listened.
“Kara was only five, and she hated taking a shower. Seriously hated it. The water always got in her eyes and it was a bitch to try and rinse out her hair,” he said roughly. He cleared his throat and I pressed my fingers against my lips as my eyes began to water. “But I wouldn’t let her take a bath. You know what the selling point was when I bought our house? It didn’t have a fuckin’ tub.”
I closed my eyes as his voice grew choked.
“I knew it was bullshit. It was all in my head. But I couldn’t put her in a fuckin’ bathtub.”
Pressing my forehead against my knees, I rocked a little back and forth.
“If I’m bein’ honest,” he said with an uncomfortable chuckle, “sittin’ here with you in there is makin’ my skin crawl.”
I glanced to the side and traced the tub’s edge with my eyes. The other showers in the club were just that, showers with a little drain in the middle. But a few years back when they’d done some renovations, my dad had added a bathtub in his bathroom because my mom loved taking baths. It was silly, and a luxury they didn’t need at the club, but she’d looked at him like he’d lassoed the moon, which had been his intention.
“It’s not a big deal that playin’ paintball freaked you out a little,” Mack continued. “Could be worse. Could be afraid of bathtubs.”
Without a word, I switched the shower off and let the water run from the faucet as I put the little stopper in the bottom of the tub. As it began to fill, I slid open the curtain and met Mack’s eyes.
“That’s worse,” he told me seriously, gesturing in my direction as he dropped to sit on the closed toilet lid.
“I’m okay,” I said over the sound of the water.
Mack swallowed and nodded.
We stared at each other as the bath filled, and as soon as I turned off the water, the silence was almost overpowering.
“Get in with me,” I said softly, reaching out my hand.
Mack knelt down by the side of the tub and laced his fingers with mine. “Can’t do it, baby.”
“Okay.” I laid my cheek on my knees and rubbed my thumb over the back of his hand.
My mom chose that moment to stick her head through the bathroom door. “Everything okay?” she asked.
Mack didn’t turn his head to look at her, keeping his eyes on me.
“We’re fine,” I told her.
She glanced between me and Mack and gave me a small smile, then backed out and shut the door firmly behind her.
“Tell me about her,” I said, meeting Mack’s eyes again.
“Mia?”
“Yeah. What was she like?”
“Beautiful,” he said, sitting back so that his ass was on the floor and he could brace his elbows on his knees without ever letting go of my hand. “Total smartass. Sweet. Outgoing. Sad.”
“I wasn’t around her much,” I said, my voice quiet. “But my mom always said that she was a sweetheart.”
“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “That fits.”
“I’m sorry you lost her,” I said quietly.
“I’m sorry Kara lost her,” he replied, smoothing his hand over his beard. “She was a good mom.”
“She’s lucky she has you,” I said.
“I don’t know about that,” Mack said with a huff. “But I’m doin’ my best.”
“You’re a fantastic dad.”
“Had a good example growin’ up,” he replied.
I wanted to ask why he didn’t want more kids. I wanted to point out that he was already so good at doing it alone, and that it would be so much better if we could do it together. I wanted to tell him that the thought of never having his babies made my chest ache, that I wanted to be able to help with Kara. To take her dress shopping when she started going to school dances and talk to her about boys and explain to her why her attitude wasn’t going to help her when she was trying to convince him of something.
I didn’t say any of that. When I opened my mouth, something far different came out.
“Me and Cecilia hid behind a tree during the shooting,” I told him. I didn’t have to clarify which shooting. Everyone knew the story of how a group of men had attacked us at our family barbecue, killing my great gram, our president and his wife, and my older brother Mick.
“Oh, yeah?” he said softly.
“It was barely big enough for both of us,” I said, the memory never too far from my mind. “So she stood with her back to it, and held me against the front of her. Every time a shot hit the tree, it made this thunk sound, and I swear we could feel it. I don’t know how neither of us was hit.”