Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 88248 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88248 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
One picture catches my attention. It’s a picture of three stick figures with ineligible writing above and below the people. Writing in sharpie—that has to be from an adult—above the messy writing plays as the caption: Mommy, Aunt Sierra, and Zane. I love you. Happy Mother’s Day!
My heart sinks at the thought that every year Blakely didn’t have someone to spoil her for Mother’s Day. She deserves to be pampered and given recognition. Growing up, every year my dad would take my brothers and me to the store so we could pick out presents for our mom. Then we would wrap them and give them to her in the morning along with a homemade breakfast we would make while she slept in. Dad would always buy her a gift card to the spa she loves, and the following weekend, he would take us to the park to skateboard and play while she would spend the day at the spa. The following month, when it was Father’s Day, Mom would take us to buy Dad new fishing gear.
A lump forms in my throat when I think about Father’s Day. Does Zane know what that day means? Did he wonder where his dad was and why he wasn’t with him? Or did Blakely ignore the holiday and pretend it didn’t exist, so Zane wouldn’t know what he was missing?
My phone goes off, and I swallow down the huge lump in my throat, shaking away my thoughts. I’m here now, and not another holiday will go by that I’m not with my son—or Blakely—for that matter.
When I pull my phone out of my front pocket, Zane snuggles in closer, and I gently move his head onto his pillow, so he doesn’t get a stiff neck. I read the text from my dad, then type out a quick reply and hit send. As I’m about to put my phone away, my eyes land on the locator app. My finger hovers above it for several seconds before I give in and click on it.
I shouldn’t have done it, but I did. I couldn’t help it, though. While Blakely was in the shower the other day, I saw her phone on the table and made a rash decision. It’s not like I had to download the app—it’s already there, part of the phone. All I had to do was request to follow her and approve it. And how did I justify it? By convincing myself that because Blakely’s the mother of my son, I need to make sure she’s safe. In my defense, that’s the truth. But if what I was doing was okay, then I would’ve just asked her. But I didn’t.
I feel guilty about it—sort of. But that doesn’t stop me from checking up on her. I’m not doing it to be a creep, though. I just want to make sure she’s okay. I don’t trust that Brenton guy as far as I can throw him. I’ve been asking around campus, and I don’t like the shit I’m hearing—at all.
When I click on Blakely’s name, it shows she left the coffee shop a few minutes ago. She must be on her way home. Since it’s not too late, I decide to hang out and wait for her, but twenty minutes later, when she should’ve already arrived at home, I pull back up the app to see where she is and notice she’s a mile away from here. Clicking on her location, I zoom in and immediately recognize the house as Jeffrey Corbin Frederick’s—also known as J.C., the biggest douche on campus. I know this is his house because the guy’s been on my radar for some time now.
What the hell is she doing there? Blakely doesn’t seem like the type to party with J.C. Then I remember she was with Brenton. Well, shit… things are starting to make sense now.
After kissing my son good night and tucking him in, I say good night to Sierra, who’s on the couch, watching a movie.
Grabbing my board, I head over to J.C.’s place. When I arrive, it’s a madhouse. Music is thundering out of the house and spilling into the front yard, where several drunken students are practically having a damn orgy on the front lawn. A few people are making out on the porch. I search the area and spot Brenton’s Mercedes. Yeah, the dickhead actually drives a Mercedes. How he can afford one, I have no clue.
Going around back, I tell myself I just want to make sure Blakely is okay and then I’ll leave. But when I’m about to step onto the porch, I hear Brenton’s voice, so I back up slightly to remain in the shadows and listen to what he has to say. And what I hear come out of his mouth confirms my suspicions: Blakely and my son most definitely aren’t safe around this guy.