Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 54148 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 217(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54148 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 217(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
I nestle into the warmth from our bodies in our bed and close my eyes. I’m not actually sick. Pretending to stay home from school with a fever is part of a roleplay that’s taken me a year to prepare for, mentally and emotionally.
The rumble of Austin’s truck as it starts up triggers a delicious thrum between my legs. He’s not really going into work, just pretending. Daddy can’t stay gone for too long; he needs his baby girl far too badly.
As I allow my mind to drift within the state between sleep and waking, I recall that I still need to respond to Bridget Howe’s last email to me. She’s writing a follow-up article about those of us who were abused by Ewan Cline. A week after his arrest, two more girls came out with stories similar to mine.
He was sentenced to fifteen years in prison for what he did to us. Sadly, Janet’s sentence was much lighter—two years probation and a seven-thousand dollar fine. But I have a feeling the bad publicity took its toll on her; she ended up selling their house and moving out of state. That’s as much as I know, and frankly, all I care to know.
The media firestorm surrounding Holly and me died down after Jim Davis was arrested for money laundering last Christmas. I’m not sure why, but I have a strange feeling Mike might’ve had something to do with it. I haven’t asked him directly, and he hasn’t said a word. All I know is that he went on vacation—ice fishing in Canada, or so he claims—and when he came back, Jim Davis was on his way back to prison.
But it wasn’t just the former governor going away that turned the tides. I have to credit Bridget with shifting the public’s perception of me. When it came time for her to write her article, she was true to her word: she kept the focus on me, not just the things that have happened to me, but the person I’ve become.
For once, my name went viral for something I’d intentionally done.
Bridget ended up flying out to Tennessee to interview me in person. We talked about my mom and my grandpa and growing up in the system. Of course, we talked about the Clines. But we also discussed my hopes and dreams for the future. I’ve been looking into psychology degrees and different routes to becoming a therapist. I want to work with kids and teens who’ve experienced trauma, and I want our homestead to be a place where they can hang out with the chickens and get their hands dirty while getting in touch with their mental health.
Austin and I have even talked about signing up to become foster parents after we’re married. He proposed to me in the orchard last fall. Now whenever I smell apples, I think about the day he got down on one knee and asked me to be his baby girl forever. He stayed down there for a while, his face buried between my thighs, as I stroked his hair and marveled at the diamond on my finger, thinking, holy shit, I’m going to be Austin’s wife.
Of course, Hollywood is adamant about being my maid of honor. She gave birth to a beautiful baby girl last November. They named her Tori—short for Victoria—after Cal’s late sister. I was there in the birthing room the night she was born. Tori is the sweetest baby, and Austin and I have been spending one night a week at their house, cooking and cleaning and helping take care of her. Sometimes Teagan and Jonah stop by with their brood. April and Jonathan are expecting their first child, and the four of us baby girls make a point to hang out at least twice a month.
My pulse spikes at the sound of the front door opening. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, recalling that this is something I’ve wanted to do for a long time. The footsteps coming up the stairs belong to Daddy.
He’s come home.
Austin enters the bedroom, his gaze hungry and dark. He approaches the bed, and I can’t resist pressing my thighs together under the blankets.
“Daddy, you’re supposed to be at work.”
“I know,” he rasps. “But Daddy couldn’t stop thinking about you all alone in this big bed.”
He runs his hand along my hip over the blankets. My mouth goes dry as he pulls his shirt off, then reaches for his belt.
“I know you’re not feeling well, baby. But don’t worry. Daddy’s gonna make you better.”
Stripped down to just his boxers, he climbs into bed and crawls under the covers. I gasp as the front of his body connects with my backside. He’s colder than I am, but I’m happy to share my warmth with him. He lays his big hand on my stomach, and I hold my breath, waiting to see which direction he’ll take first.