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)
When realization sets in that it’s truly gone, the next logical conclusion is that someone stole it—and there’s only one person it could be.
My mother.
She knows where my spare key is and she took it, gave it to Carmine Betta, and he wrote that article using all the private words I’d recorded in my diary.
He pulled out information to use against the Titans in a salacious article without my permission.
And oh God… all the personal details I’d put in there not only about my feelings for Hendrix but embarrassing information about our sex life. I’d written a lot about the things he did to me, and my face flames with the realization someone has read that stuff.
A snarl rips free of my throat as I locate my phone. I call Hendrix so I can tell him what happened.
He answers on the second ring, but before I can say a word, he says, “Don’t contact me again.”
I’m stunned when the line goes dead. I start to call him back but then decide against it. He’s so mad right now, I need to let him cool off. Instead, I send him a text that simply says, I’m so sorry. It wasn’t me, but I’ll explain if you call me back. I love you.
I know he’s driving, but he has talk-to-text. Maybe he’ll message me back, but I can’t waste time gazing at my screen. I hurry and dress, sparing a moment to throw fish food in Shenanigan’s bowl. “Merry Christmas, buddy.”
As I’m headed for the door, my phone dings, and I pull it out of my pocket. It’s from Hendrix. I don’t want an explanation. It won’t matter. The minute you met with a reporter was the minute our relationship was doomed. I won’t ever move past that, so please leave me alone.
Agony swells and rolls through me in a debilitating wave. Is he being serious? He won’t even let me tell him the entire story?
But on the flip side, he has a point. I did know when I walked into that coffee shop that I was choosing loyalty to my mom over Hendrix. Even with my staunch position I was only going to listen to what the reporter had to say, merely meeting with him was an absolute stab in Hendrix’s back.
He has every right to cut me out and not want to hear a damn thing because there is no true excuse.
My feet are leaden as I grab my coat and head out the door. It doesn’t really matter as far as Hendrix is concerned, but I need to have my mom look me in the face and tell me why she did it. I also want my journal back.
The drive to the house my mom shares with Randy takes no time at all. There’s hardly anyone out as most are tucked away celebrating Christmas with their loved ones.
Another intense jab of pain hits me square in the chest that I’ll never have that with Hendrix. He’s on his way to his parents’ house, where I’m sure he will relay to them how awful I am. They’ll hate me the way he does.
I pull into the driveway and see my mom’s car, but not Randy’s. My fury is on a low simmer as I make my way up the porch steps and knock on the door.
I wait, and no one comes.
I knock more. Then I bang on it.
There’s no sound from inside, and the curtains on the front window are closed.
“You looking for Mandi?” a voice calls out.
Turning, I see an elderly woman walking a tiny dog dressed in a Christmas sweater. I trot down the steps. “Yeah… I am. Do you know where she is?”
“St. Lucia,” the woman says. “Left yesterday. Apparently came into some money and was all excited about taking an impromptu trip to a tropical island.”
It’s just one punch after another, and I actually bend over slightly as my stomach twists. “She came into money?” I ask in disbelief.
The old woman shrugs. “Said it was an inheritance. Ten thousand dollars. Personally, I told her she should put it in savings, but she said she needed a romantic getaway with her honey.”
“Oh God,” I mutter, turning away from the woman as I realize everything my mom told me about being in trouble was probably a lie. Or maybe it wasn’t a lie, and she has no intention of returning from St. Lucia. I doubt money laundering thugs would search for her there.
“You okay?” the woman calls to me as I walk like a zombie to my car.
Am I okay? I don’t know because right now, I’m just… blank. Everything in my life has been blown apart. I woke up this morning with such joy and hope driving my every step. And now I’ve been used, vilified, and worst of all, abandoned.