Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
“You two have nothing in common,” Rory affirms. “She wanted Hendrix for his money and his fame. Moreover, she wanted all of his attention and adoration. If his eyes weren’t on her at all times, she felt slighted. If he didn’t spend every minute of his free time with her, she was put out. She demanded everything and gave nothing in return. I see none of that in you, and on top of that, you’re a million times prettier.”
I don’t know about that. I may not know much about Hendrix’s former girlfriend, but I saw her that first night, and she’s gorgeous. But I’m confident enough to know that Hendrix is attracted to me.
And Rory has affirmed for me that Hendrix likes more than just my physical appearance.
Pulling out her wallet, Rory slides free a fifty-dollar bill and sets it on the table. It’s far more than the bill and a generous tip, but she pushes it to the side, showing her intention to leave it all.
“When it all boils down,” Rory says, reaching across the table and taking my hand, “I trust in Hendrix because I see the way he looks at you, the way he talks to you, and the happiness he exudes either when you’re around or when he’s talking about you. No need to analyze a damn thing… you’re it for him.”
Her words pack a punch and rather than fortify me, they make me feel uneasy. “But… we’ve only been seeing each other a little over two weeks.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” She doesn’t let me answer, instead sliding out of the booth. I grab my coat and tote and do the same. Rory’s hands come to my shoulders, her eyes locking with mine. “Just trust me on this… you’re it for him, and if you let yourself have a little freedom to accept something good, you’ll realize he’s it for you.”
I’m unwilling to agree with her vocally because, in the back of my mind, I know that mothers leave little daughters behind, so it would be a hell of a lot easier for a man to do that to a grown woman.
I’m not ready to let go of those fears just yet, so instead I smile at her. “I hope you’re right.”
Rory pulls me into a hard hug and then we walk out of the diner. One more hug, farewells and promises to stay in touch, and she walks west down the block to her car, and I head in the opposite direction.
Just as I’m in my car and putting on my seat belt, my phone rings. Fishing it out of my bag, I see it’s my mom. I’m feeling so good after that time spent with Rory, my tone is cheerful when I answer. “Hi, Mom.”
“Stevie.” The hair stands up on the back of my neck because my name comes out as a pained sob.
“What’s wrong?” I demand.
“Um… I’m… at… your… house…” My mom’s staccato burst of words gives way to weeping.
“Mom,” I yell into the phone as I crank my car.
She seems more in control, although she’s still crying. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know where to go. They dumped me here.”
“Who dumped you there? What’s wrong with you?”
“They roughed me up a bit… wanted to send a message. I’m bleeding, and I don’t know what to do.”
My stomach pitches. “I’m about ten minutes away. There’s a key taped to the underside of the first rocking chair. Get inside the house, and I’ll be there soon.”
“Okay,” she says tremulously. “Okay… I can do that.”
“I’ll be right there.”
She doesn’t respond, and I listen hard, but I think she’s hung up. At least I hope that’s what she’s done. She said she was bleeding, and I don’t know if that means she has a busted lip or a knife wound to her stomach.
I consider calling 9-1-1, but no… she would have said if it was life-threatening. I’m almost positive.
Calling 9-1-1 will bring the police along with an ambulance, and that could get my mom in a world of trouble. It’s best to wait and assess the situation.
With the car in gear, I check my mirror and pull onto the street, hopeful I’m making the right decision.
CHAPTER 16
Stevie
I pull in front of my house rather than around to the back alley where my garage is. My mom’s car isn’t here, but she said someone dumped her, and I look around cautiously as I exit my vehicle.
Scurrying up the porch steps, I slip my key into the lock and push through the door. I turn, flip the dead bolt, and do a quick perusal of the street through the glass. I don’t see anything suspicious.
“Mom,” I yell out as I turn around but immediately see her sitting at my kitchen table with a rag pressed against her eye.