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)
In my heart of hearts, I know she’s absolutely wrong about me. The strength of my spine isn’t bent by her hateful barrage. There’s even a place inside me that pities her.
But I am hurt because I’d thought maybe we could have some type of relationship. All my hopes were just ground to dust, and I feel like I’m choking on it.
I’m not a glutton for punishment, however, and I know it’s time to walk. I pivot and step around my mom, heading to the edge of the sidewalk.
“Don’t you walk away from me,” she calls out.
I ignore her, look left, then right, grateful to the traffic gods there’s an opening. I push my hand into my purse to grab my keys as I jog across the street.
“You unappreciative bitch!” she yells, and that actually makes me laugh as I reach my car.
I’m unappreciative? The irony is too much.
I don’t even look over at her as I get in, start the engine, and pull into traffic when there’s a break.
I drive straight to my dad’s tattoo shop.
♦
I enter through the front door rather than the bar. I’d planned on taking the day off because I wasn’t sure how this morning’s meeting would go, and I made the right call. I’m a little shaky now that the adrenaline is wearing off.
One of his artists, Samuel, is at the reception desk, reading a magazine. He looks up and smiles. “Hey, Stevie. Looking for your dad?”
“Yeah. He in with a customer?”
Samuel shakes his head. “Just finished up. He’s in the break room.”
“Thanks.” I head to the back, passing by the various workstations, some of which are filled. The shop is open from early morning to midnight, so the artists all work different shifts.
I push open the break room door, my eyes immediately locking on my dad who’s leaning against the sink counter. His arms are folded, and he’s listening to one of his employees.
It takes him a nanosecond to know something’s wrong. “Everyone out,” he growls.
Chairs are pushed back, and there’s a mad scramble past me. When the door shuts, my dad asks, “What’s wrong?”
Just minutes ago, I felt strong. I’d held my ground, saved my morals, stood up to a toxic mother. Now that I’m in my daddy’s presence and I see the love and concern in his eyes, not to mention he knows me so well—he just knows something’s wrong—I lose my shit.
I start crying. Rivers pour down my cheeks, and I bend in half, hugging my stomach.
“Jesus fuck,” my dad grumbles, and then I’m in his embrace. He rocks me back and forth, his voice gentle with affirmations. “It’s all right. Let it out. Whatever this is, I’ve got your back, Carrots.”
I shake my head, wrapping my arms around his waist and burying my face in his chest. And I just cry.
“Did that asshole do something to you?” he snarls.
That actually makes me laugh, and I turn my head to the side. “No… not Hendrix. He’s perfect, and you know he’s not an asshole.”
“Then it’s your mom.” His words are confident and without hesitation.
He knows.
“It’s awful, Dad.” I tip my head back to look at him. “Think of the worst thing and just know it’s worse than that.”
“She’s probably got you embroiled in some scheme or drama,” he says quietly.
I blink in surprise, pulling all the way out of his embrace.
“You don’t think I know that woman?” my dad grumbles. “Jesus, Stevie. I watched her walk away from the most precious angel in the world, so I know she’s got a few screws loose.”
My gaze falls away in shame that I let myself go down that rabbit hole with her.
“Want to tell me about it?” he asks.
“Um…” My eyes slide up to meet his. “I don’t think so. I handled it myself. It’s over.”
“Over?”
“As in I can’t have a relationship with her. At all. The why of it isn’t important.”
My dad accepts that and doesn’t push. He knows if I need to get it off my chest, he’s there for me.
My rock.
“All right. If you’re good, I’m good.”
“I’m good,” I say, taking stock of my feelings. I’m actually at peace, knowing that I tried with my mom, and that my dad—as always—has my back.
“Want to come hang out with me while I do a back piece?” he says.
“Sure,” I say with a smile. I’ve got nothing else to do until it’s time to head to the arena. Brienne Norcross invited me to join her and the other ladies I met through Harlow at Mario’s last week.
I’m really excited about it—not just seeing a game from the owner’s box but to hang out with Harlow. Our adult lives have been so busy the last few years, her with opening her own law firm and me with the bar, there hasn’t been much free time to socialize. The fact that we’re both dating Titans players means we can at least see each other when they play at home.