Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 91937 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91937 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
“What if they don’t?” he asks me the loaded question, the one I don’t think I have the answer to.
“Why don’t we see how day one goes, and then we can brainstorm ideas on how to get friends.” I smile at him. “You are going to do amazing, and it will be the best day ever.” He just nods. “You are so brave,” I remind him, “and I love you with all of my heart.”
He nods as I get up, and we walk out of the house together, with me holding his hand and the other hand holding his lunch box.
I park at the school, getting out and holding the door open for him. He’s quiet, and my stomach is in knots for him as we walk closer to the chain-link fence. He stays next to me until the bell rings, and then the teacher walks over to us. “Time to go in, buddy,” she says with a huge smile, and I smile back at her.
I hug him. “It’s going to be a good day,” I assure him, and now my eyes can’t help but fill up.
“What’s your name?” the teacher asks him.
“Wyatt,” he replies softly.
“Oh good,” she says, “I’m Miss Corinne. I’ll be your teacher.” She holds out her hand for him. “Why don’t we get in there, and you can be my helper?”
He puts his hand in hers as I hand him his lunch box, and I watch, holding on to the fence, as he walks into the school. My hatred for the Cartwrights is higher than I ever thought was possible. They have once again broken his heart, but I’m going to make damn sure I spend the rest of my life making up for them. Making sure he never, ever feels that. I wipe a tear off my cheek, and when the door closes behind him, I walk back to the car, getting in, and putting my head back on the headrest.
“You did this for him,” I remind myself. “You did this so he doesn’t end up like them.”
I start the car and pull out of the parking lot, heading straight to town. I grab the manila folder on the passenger seat and my purse before I get out.
Looking down at my jeans and T-shirt, I wonder if maybe I should have dressed up a bit since I’m handing out my résumé again. It’s to the same places, but I’m hoping this time it’s different.
I start at the end of the road which is at the garage station, walking in and seeing Brock walking out from the garage into the waiting area. With an oily rag in his hand, he looks me up and down. “Can I help you?” he asks, trying not to sound annoyed but failing. He was best friends with Waylon Cartwright, and when the whole accident went down, he chose the Cartwrights’ side. From what I remember hearing, they promised him all the things in the world but failed to actually give them to him, and he lost everything, including the woman he loved.
“Just stopping by to see if maybe you had a chance to look over my résumé?” I ask, trying not to show how nervous I am.
“Told you before, Harmony, I don’t have anything for you,” he says, and I look over at the desk that looks like it’s covered in stuff that needs organizing.
“Even part-time?” I ask, and he shakes his head. I hold my head high and my shoulders back. “Here.” I hand him another résumé. “If anything changes, I’ll take anything,” I say, trying not to sound desperate. He takes the paper from me, probably trying to be kind to my face, but I know it’ll just go in the trash. “Thank you for your time, Brock.”
I turn and walk out of the garage, then head to the diner, where the manager just shakes his head at me, telling me they are overstaffed. I go all along the street until I get to the bar. I think about not going in, but I go in anyway.
I walk in, seeing it’s still empty, which is normal since it’s not even eleven in the morning. I spot him right away behind the bar while a girl pulls the chairs off the tabletops. He does a double take when he sees me. I should probably just walk back out, but if my son has the courage to go into a brand-new school with all new people, I can do this. At least I think I can until I get closer and see his green eyes. “Hi.” I smile, trying to sound chipper. “How are you?”
“Fine,” he says.
“Good, I’m good too.” I swallow down the nerves.
“We aren’t open.” His voice is gruff, and my eyes go down to his chest, remembering seeing him bare-chested this morning. He puts his hands outstretched on the bar beside him.