Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 83211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
“Fuck off.”
They exchange a grin.
“What do you want? I just got home and need to go play with my girl,” Banks says, catching an elbow from me.
We enter the backyard, and I stop dead in my tracks. Wow.
“What the hell did you do?” Banks asks, his eyes wide. “Holy shit, Jess. Did you have to get a permit to build this thing?”
“I didn’t, so let’s hope not.”
A chicken cottage has been constructed with white wood and gold metal roofing. A double door big enough for a person to walk through is latched closed by thick metal hinges. It even has window boxes with flowers.
The run where the chicks are racing around is screened in. Three little chicken swings hang from the ceiling. The What a Fuster Cluck sign Banks was telling me about hangs over the door.
“Jess,” I coo, bending down in front of the screen. “They’re so cute.”
A pale yellow fluff ball runs toward me and peeps.
“You seriously built these things a chicken house,” Banks says incredulously.
“I even wallpapered the inside.” Jess beams. “It’s not done. I’m going to add some motion detectors on the corners with floodlights in case anything tries to break in at night. And maybe chicken cams just so Pippa can check on them from at work.”
Banks shakes his head like he’s speechless.
I stand, brushing my hands off, and smile. “This is the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”
“Hey,” Banks says, huffing.
I roll my eyes at him. “You built this thing fast.”
“I build stuff all day at work, so it’s not that hard for me, and I have access to lots of materials that are going to get tossed anyway. And, you know, chickens turn into an addiction. There’s a whole thing called chicken math.”
“Well, a good Chicken Dad would know that,” Banks jokes.
“Pippa and Ashley are out buying new mulch for it now. I kinda built it a little bigger than I anticipated,” Jess says, looking over our shoulders. His brows pull together. “Who is that at your house, Banks?”
We turn to see a white car pulled up to the curb near the mailbox.
“I have no idea who that is,” Banks says, watching them closely.
I hold onto his arm as Jess comes up beside me. A door opens in the back and a little girl with blond hair starts to walk up the sidewalk.
What the hell?
“That’s Bethany,” I say, heading toward her immediately.
She walks up the steps and knocks on the door. The car pulls by us, turns around in front of Damaris’s house, and then scoots out of the neighborhood.
What the hell?
“Hey,” I call out. “Bethany!”
She turns on her heel and sees me, running back down the steps. My pace picks up, getting quicker the closer I get to her.
My heart pounds, and adrenaline shoots through my veins.
Something is wrong.
I sense Banks close behind but don’t bother to check. He’ll be here. He’s Banks.
Bethany lunges toward me, burying her tearstained face in my chest. Her body heaves as she cries out, and I’m left holding her against me, wondering what the fuck is going on.
Banks jogs to us and places his hand on my back. He gives me a look, but I shrug.
“Hey,” I say, brushing her hair away from her face. “Hey, Bethany, sweetheart. What’s wrong?”
She lifts her head and looks up, tears still flooding her face.
My chest is so tight that I can barely breathe. “You’re going to have to talk to me and tell me what’s wrong. Who dropped you off here?”
“A rideshare service.”
We’ll discuss that later. “Are you okay? Did something happen to you?”
Banks places a hand on each of our shoulders and leads us to the porch. “Let’s set down. Do you guys want a drink?”
We sit on the porch steps. I help Bethany remove her backpack and wave Banks off.
“I’ll be inside,” he says quietly. “Just shout if you need me.”
I smile at him. Thank you, Banks, for understanding what we need right now.
“So …” I prompt, curiosity killing me. “I need to know you’re okay.”
“I’m fine. Physically, anyway.”
“I know all about that.”
She smiles sadly.
“Does your mom know where you are?” I ask.
“No. That’s the point. I didn’t go to school today.”
I swallow, giving myself a chance to stay calm. “Why?”
Tears flow instantly once again. “I don’t even know, Sara. I don’t know what happened. We got into a fight last night—a bad one—because I told her I wanted to cut my hair.” Her eyes widen. “To cut my hair. That’s it. I didn’t tell her I wanted to do drugs or move to Antarctica. I just wanted to cut my hair.”
I grit my teeth, trying not to let my sister see it.
“Her boyfriend ended up coming over,” she says, sniffling. “I hate him. His name is Gary, and he’s a hateful, vile man. And he came in and started yelling at me that I was a spoiled brat and I should be thankful for everything she does for me. That the only kids that make their mothers cry are entitled little bitches.” She pauses. “He said that.”