Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 105825 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105825 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
“I’ll leave you to settle in. I need to spend time with Cody, and then I need to get ready for tomorrow.” She took a deep breath and suddenly, she just looked lost. “As ready as I can be.”
She walked away and I had to stop myself from marching after her and pulling her into a hug. I couldn’t even imagine the pressure she was under, right now. Taking over as CEO of a billion- dollar company, days after losing her dad. Doing it all alone, as a single mom and knowing some psycho wanted to hurt her.
My back straightened and my hands closed into fists. I couldn’t help her run a company. I couldn’t bring Russ back. And I couldn’t be with her, however much I wanted to be.
But if someone tried to hurt her again, I was going to make them regret they’d ever been born.
17
LORNA
Ten minutes later, I was in Cody’s room, building.
There’s a simple pleasure to building with Legos that’s hard to beat. We take turns, one person finding the correct bricks and laying them out ready for the other person to click them together. It’s like being a mini production line, a warmly symbiotic relationship that’s as relaxing as a hot bath.
“I need three two-by-four thins in red,” said Cody.
“Mm-hmm,” I acknowledged, rattling through the bricks.
Building with Cody a few times a week was a routine I made sure I never missed. The other moms at his school wouldn’t understand but I didn’t care. It was our way of geeking out together and I’d learned it was a great way to get him to open up.
“Any blue-tinted window panes left?” Cody asked.
“Hold on, I saw a few,” I muttered, sifting through the pile.
“I miss Grandad,” blurted Cody.
I looked across at him. His eyes were firmly fixed on the house he was building. I felt my own pain, that tug in my stomach I felt every time I thought of my dad. And chained to that, that ache all moms get, whenever they see their child hurting. “I know,” I said softly. “Me too.”
We built for another few minutes in sad silence. Then: “I keep forgetting,” said Cody with sudden savagery. “And then I remember and—” His face twisted and his breathing went tight with pain. “I’m so dumb. I woke up this morning and I was excited because on Mondays we always get pastries with Grandad after school and I was going to show him this idea I had for a robot arm. I've been sketching it out for weeks and then I remembered and he’s never going to see it.” His voice finally fractured. “He’ll never know!”
I pulled him into my arms as the tears started, rubbing his back and resting my chin on the top of his head. My eyes were filling up with tears, too. “Maybe we should stop by the grave,” I croaked. “You could tell him.”
I could feel him quaking against me. “People do that?”
I nodded. “All the time.”
“Does it work?”
I didn’t know. My mom died when I was only a few days old. As a child, I’d visited her grave, sat there and stared at the name, trying to imagine the woman I’d never known. It hurt, not having a mom, but I hadn’t lost her, not like this. “It’s meant to,” I told him.
His sobs softened and gradually stopped, but it was a while before he let me go and moved back. “Are we in danger?” he asked.
My stomach flip-flopped. “No,” I told him firmly.
“But JD’s here to guard us. Right?” There wasn’t much I could hide from Cody. I wondered what else he’d figured out, like does that mean someone killed Grandad? I prayed his mind hadn’t gone there. This was all too much to be dealing with, at his age.
“Yes, he’s here to protect us. But it’s just a precaution. Think of him like a sprinkler system.” I gripped Cody’s shoulders and looked into his eyes. “No one’s going to hurt you.”
“Or you?”
“Or me,” I told him, hoping I sounded a lot more certain than I felt.
Late that night, when everyone else was asleep, I slipped quietly out of the penthouse and crept downstairs to my dad’s office. I hadn’t been able to bring myself to go inside since he’d died. But from tomorrow, it would be my office and I didn’t want to go in there for the first time in front of everyone.
As soon as I opened the door, I was surrounded by him. The scent of his cologne, the furrows in the carpet worn by him rolling his chair back and forth while he was thinking, the coffee pot on the side table filled with his unbelievably strong coffee… This room had been his for over thirty years. Taking it over meant admitting he was never coming back.