Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 78760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
“Tally…”
“I invited you into his house!”
I sighed.
“I was an asshole,” I told her. “I’m not that same kid anymore.”
“You weren’t a kid, though, were you?” she accused. “You were an adult.”
“I was sixteen when I went to college. Seventeen when I found out my parents lost the house,” I started explaining.
“Did you get with me to stick it to him?”
The question stunned me so much that I stared at her in disbelief.
“I didn’t…no!” I barked. “I would never do that to you. Not to you, and definitely not to her. I would never bring a child into a situation like that…and I’m not that same person anymore. I swear on my life. I’ve turned my ass around. Bought my parents a house to make up for doing shitty stuff when I was younger…I was an asshole. I know I was.”
“Why?” she asked curiously.
Questions were good.
It meant she was listening to what I had to say instead of just dismissing me altogether.
“I was bullied, starting in junior high and all through high school. I was that kid who everyone had a turn at, making sure he had a completely miserable school experience. I was that kid that you read about in the news who kills themselves…except I channeled those feelings into harming others instead of self harm.”
She blinked in surprise.
“I got awesome grades—all As. I had a three point nine nine seven grade-point-average. Then to make matters worse, I made the varsity swim team my last year of high school…and it was the guy who was biggest asshole of them all who I beat out for first spot at swim meets.”
She blinked.
“I can’t quite picture you as a swimmer…you’re too…muscular.”
I grinned, my mouth twitching into some semblance of a smile.
“Then I got out of high school and left to start college. One weekend I tried to come home only to find my home, the house I grew up in, was no longer our house.”
Her eyes went wide.
“Why didn’t your parents tell you what was happening?” she breathed.
Tallulah chose that moment to projectile vomit across the room.
Luckily, we were still in the bathroom and she was facing away from the door so it mostly hit the bathtub—otherwise someone would’ve had to figure out how the hell to get puke chunks out of shaggy carpet.
“What did she eat today?” I asked, stopping my explanation.
“Nothing,” Tally said instantly. “Mom said that she tried to get her to have a few bottles, then tried to get her to eat her favorite baby food—peaches—but she refused everything.”
“Got any Pedialyte?” I asked, leaving the bathroom to head to the kitchen.
Tally followed behind me at a slower pace, stopping beside the large, butcher-block topped island—which was new, I might add—and watched me move around the kitchen.
“No, not any Pedialyte.”
I opened the fridge and saw some prune juice, which she most certainly shouldn’t have at this juncture, some orange juice, what I assumed was some tea, and some Gatorade.
Pulling out the Gatorade, I lifted my eyebrows at her in question.
She pointed to a cabinet, and I moved to it, pulling the doors open and reaching for a bottle all the while I continued explaining.
“As for why my mom didn’t tell me, she didn’t know how to tell me,” I explained. “Mom and Dad are proud people, and since I was such a momma’s boy, and mom was so embarrassed that it had come to this, she didn’t know how to tell me, I guess, so they just didn’t.”
“That’s terrible,” Tally whispered.
“Terrible, yes,” I agreed. “But that didn’t give me the right to be a complete asshole.”
Her mouth kicked up in a small smile.
“I was such an asshole back then that if you had looked up the definition in the dictionary, my sixteen-year-old graduation picture would be there right beside it.” I poured the yellow Gatorade into the bottle and screwed the lid on, handing it to her as I continued. “I got back into town and came straight here. I walked up to the front door, slid my key in…and nothing. It didn’t work. I couldn’t get in, and when I knocked on the door—loudly because I was pissed off—your dad answered. I hate to admit it, but I was a complete and utter dickhead to him.”
Her mouth twitched. “Dad doesn’t like to be bothered.”
I gave her a wan smile. “Yeah, I figured that out.”
She took the bottle I handed her, and then thought better of it.
“I have to go clean up that throw up before it starts to permanently attach itself to the shower wall…” she handed Tallulah over and waited for me to get her situated before she handed me the bottle.
Before I could even give the bottle to Tallulah, Tally was gone, and seconds later I could hear the shower going.
“Your momma’s so pretty,” I told the baby in my arms.