Total pages in book: 164
Estimated words: 152853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 764(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 510(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 152853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 764(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 510(@300wpm)
I'm almost reeling when she walks away, her shoulders hunched, hands shoved deep into her pockets. It's like a hurricane blew through here. All I can do is look around at the wreckage and wonder what the hell I'm supposed to do now.
In the middle of my dazed, confused state, one face flashes in front of my mind's eye. One person who can't mind her own goddamn business. She just had to know more, didn't she? Comforting Becky was an excuse. Becky saw her opportunity and she jumped on it.
Everything around me goes red as I charge out of the garage and across the yard. She has fucked around for the last time. Now, she'll find out what happens when people don't do as I say.
"If you would just do as I say, I wouldn't have to lose my temper." I shake my head like that will do anything to shake off the memory of hearing those words delivered straight to my face, nose to nose, spoken in the calmest voice imaginable, even as blood dripped down my face. Even as the taste of it filled my mouth. He had the balls to stand there and blame it on me, just like he blamed it on Mom. It was always somebody else's fault.
And here I am, making the same excuses. It's my own fucking weakness staring me in the face now, my inability to deal with the past. It's nobody's fault but my own.
I slam the gun on the counter with a trembling hand and swear to God there's somebody sitting on my chest. I can hardly take a breath. "Tatum?" I call out. Nothing but the sound of my voice echoes back. "Tatum? Where are you?"
CHAPTER 24
TATUM
At first, it's a relief to find the house quiet when I venture out of the bedroom. I don't know how much longer I can stand living with a time bomb. That's how it feels. The clock's always ticking. I'm always waiting for the next explosion.
My frayed nerves settle a little as I walk downstairs to find a quiet, peaceful first floor. Except for a coffee cup on the counter, there's no evidence of Romero. I pick it up—it's still warm—and look out the back window in time to find the last person I expected to see hurrying out of the garage. "Becky?"
She's practically running with her head down, and a quick hand under her eyes tells me she's crying. He made her cry. I have no idea what she's doing here so early in the morning, but it doesn't matter as much as the fact that she's flushed and teary.
What the hell did he do to her this time? Is he ever going to get tired of hurting people? Anger propels me through the house and out the door into a very chilly morning. I hardly feel it. I'm too busy being pissed off.
She's already passed the SUV and is now hustling down the sidewalk. "Becky?" I don't know if she hears me—or if she cares. I wouldn't if I were her. I'd want to get away from him, too. If there's one thing I can relate to, it's that.
She's not even the most surprising thing I've seen. That honor goes to the sight of the three little assholes who plague the neighborhood exiting Mrs. Cooper's house. Right away, I'm running from the porch, ready to chase them down until Mrs. Cooper sticks her head outside and waves. "Come back any time!" Not what I'd shout to somebody who just robbed my house, so I guess my immediate reaction was off base.
She notices me standing between our houses and gives me a wave. "Hi, Tatum! You should put on a coat in this weather. You'll catch your death!" She closes her heavy cardigan and wraps her arms around herself, stepping onto the porch. I was too busy imagining her unconscious on the floor to think much about the cold that now seeps through my V-neck sweater.
"What did they want?" I ask, still watching them until they round the corner.
"It's the strangest thing." She shakes her head like she can't believe it and even laughs softly—not what I expected, and it eases some of the pressure in my head. I don't feel quite as ready to beat the shit out of anybody. "They knocked on the door and apologized for ruining my flowers, then asked if there was anything they could do for me. They even offered to pick up groceries." She tips her head to the side. "I think the little one was crying a bit, so I invited them in and gave them some fresh-baked muffins. They wolfed them right down."
What a sweet lady she is. I'd tell them to shove their change of heart up their asses. "So long as they weren't bothering you." Slowly, I walk up her porch steps. I don't know why. She's kind, warm, and caring, and there's been a real shortage of that lately.