Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97944 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97944 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
I don’t know why I didn’t see past their scam. I was so overwhelmed with how kind she was being, so desperate for attention and too wrapped up in the dream of it all, I never thought to look over the papers I was signing. And when I found out I had granted them legal ownership of the trust, I’d refused to believe it.
They had left me with nothing.
I tried hiring a lawyer. But it was no use. I was an adult of sound mind. What was there to argue?
I’ve never understood cruelty. There’s so much in the world. Selfish people who don’t think past themselves and get behind the wheel after drinking more than half a bottle of whiskey. People who steal and lie. Take advantage of vulnerability.
I don’t know what brought these feelings back. Why these memories are resurfacing. I’ve worked too hard to numb the anger. Accepted my life and the person I became a long time ago.
I crawl out of bed, thankful for the minimal discomfort and wash my face. When I look in the mirror, the person staring back is unfamiliar. I look deeper, seeing my mother, hearing her inside my head.
“Spin for me, my little ballerina, spin.”
“I am. Look at me, momma! Look at me!”
“Tell me, my sweet girl, what do you want to be when you’re all grown up?”
“A dancer like you.”
“And you’ll take the world by storm with your talent. I can see it now. My baby girl. Lights flashing as you dance for the world.”
“Just like you did.”
“You can be anything you put your mind and heart into. You control your destiny. Always remember that. You are brave. Beautiful inside and out. There’s no stopping you.”
My cheeks are wet with tears. “I tried, Momma. I tried. I just couldn’t do it.” I cover my face, emotion overwhelming me. Everything I lost. The mess I’ve made of my life. All the things I have no control over. A future that feels just as bleak.
“Stop.” I stomp my foot, shaking my head. “I need to stop. Fuck.” The tears fall harder. All I want is to break this cycle. Create a life I love. Have a job I’m passionate about. A family to come home to. Instead, I’ve cowered to my circumstances. Feeling like I didn’t deserve better, I clung to being the victim, and where has that gotten me? I have nothing. I’ve built nothing.
I don’t hear Tate knock. He’s just suddenly behind me, pulling me close. I keep my face hidden behind my hands and hold my breath, but his tender voice breaks my resolve, and I sob harder. “It’s going to be okay.”
He has no idea how much it’s not.
“Leave me alone. Go away,” I choke out, but he doesn’t budge.
“I’m not leavin’.”
For a second, I allow myself to believe him. Allow myself to pretend he means it and that I actually have someone willing to fight for me. Protect me. Love me. Then his rejection and the back-and-forth games come crashing back. Twisting in his arms, I plant my palms against his chest and thrust him back.
“I said leave. You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to be cold and heartless one minute and this way the next.”
“Mindy—”
“No. You made your choice. Stop confusing me. Stop letting me feel things that aren’t there. I can’t right now… with any of this.” Unable to look at him, I brace my hands on the counter and drop my head. Focusing on my breathing, I tune out everything around me, willing the heaving in my chest to calm.
When I lift my head, he’s gone.
***
I’d been roaming the streets of New York for almost a year, lost and alone, before I showed up at Bev’s.
Harry wasn’t exactly the fathering type, but for some reason, he opened his bar and offered me solace. Gave me a place to stay and a job doing little tasks until I was trained to bartend. He always said if I didn’t like something, to change it. At that point in my life, I’d felt more lost than I’d ever been. I wanted to make something of myself, but a measly bar wage wasn’t cutting it. He gave me all he could, so I had to figure out how to get what I wanted. The disapproval in his eyes when I told him about the studio gig was clear, but he never voiced his opinion or tried to talk me out of it. He simply shook his head and barked that it better not affect my livelihood at the bar. But I knew it bothered him.
He wasn’t big on people playing the victim. Whenever I felt down or he caught me sulking, his advice was always the same: tough and never sugar-coated. He told me to own the person I’d become, and if I didn’t like who that was, that was on me. I was the only person holding me back. And he was right.