Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84776 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84776 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
My chest caved.
My pulse beat heavy in my throat.
My fingers twitched around my phone, tightening as I was assaulted with a wave of anguish.
Maddox sucked in a deep breath, and I imagined his big hand on Bianca’s swollen belly. “Damn,” he muttered. I imagined the look of awe on their faces, as they felt their baby kicking.
Tormented, I squeezed my eyes shut. “Merry Christmas,” I whispered brokenly, before hanging up.
Rolling over in bed, I pushed my face in my pillow and finally… for the first time, since we broke up…
I let the tears fall.
I screamed.
I cried.
I raged.
And I cried some more.
I sobbed, until I didn’t have any more tears.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
We spent Christmas morning opening presents, most of which were for the baby. Ironically, it was the first Christmas I celebrated with my family, in over eighteen years… and it would be my last.
“Oh! Look at this cute onesie.” Bianca cooed and dug into more presents. Her mom had sent her two dozen parcels for Christmas. I pressed my thumbs into the back of my neck and massaged the tensed muscles there. I was bored out of my mind.
My mother sipped her tea slowly, eyeing Bianca with distrust. That look, again. To say my mother didn’t like Bianca, one bit, was an understatement. In fact, she didn’t hide it. She openly scorned Bianca, gave her the dirty looks, was quick to shut her down, if Bianca ever said anything concerning our family.
My mother barely tolerated her presence and did everything to show Bianca that she was an outsider and wasn’t welcomed in our home. I kinda felt bad. Well, not really.
I never thought Savannah Coulter had the capacity to… hate. She had always been so mellow. But Bianca, apparently, brought out that side of her. The don’t-fuck-with-me-and-I-think-you’re-pure-bullshit side.
“So, have you spoken to Lila?” my mother asked, trying to sound innocent. Bianca flinched, and Mother Dearest hid her smile behind her teacup. Here we go again.
“No, I haven’t,” I grunted. “We broke up. The end. Stop asking about Lila.”
Last night, I fell asleep with Lila on my thoughts.
I woke up in the middle of the night, jerked off again with her on my mind.
In the morning, I woke up with the memory of her taste on my lips.
Bianca cleared her throat, trying to divert the conversation, but my mother ignored her.
“She didn’t even give you a call on Christmas?”
“No.”
“What about–”
“No,” I barked.
She gave me that fake lip quivering shit she did, every time she asked about Lila, and I’d been forced to shut her up. Who was this woman? Definitely not my mother! “I was just asking… You always get so tense whenever I mention her.”
She quirked up a mocking eyebrow at me and took another sip of her tea. “It looks like the thought of her still makes you restless. She’s always on your mind, it seems.”
I rubbed a hand over my face, tired of this same shit every day. “Mom, stop!”
Her teacup paused halfway to her lips, and her jaw dropped. Her hand started to shake. She opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again, looking like a gaping fish out of water. Her eyes turned glassy, and it was then I realized…
“You called me, Mom,” she murmured, her voice breaking.
My stomach twisted, and I felt… something in my chest. A tightening sensation.
I did. I called her mom, without mocking her. For the first time since…
I swallowed past the ball of emotions stuck in my throat. “Yeah, I did,” I said, before adding, “Mom.”
Savannah Coulter gave me the prettiest, most real smile I had ever seen on her face.
And I finally understood what Lila had been trying to tell me.
She was right. Like always.
I stood in front of the Coulter’s mansion. Security let me in through the gates, but now, I debated if this was a good idea. Randomly dropping in…
Before, I’d do it all the time.
Now? Well, things had changed.
New Year’s had come and gone, a few days ago. I haven’t spoken to Maddox in over six weeks. I shouldn’t be here, but I wanted my necklace back. I’d fight Maddox, if I had to… but I wasn’t leaving, without my dreamcatcher. Two months was more than enough time for him to calm down. That necklace was mine, and he had no right to rip it away from my throat.
I let him off before… because I knew he was angry… hurting.
But not anymore.
Before I could lose, whatever courage I had mustered up to come here, I rang the doorbell. The butler, Mr. Hokinson, opened the door, and his eyes widened at the sight of me. “Miss Garcia,” he sputtered, “it’s been a long time.”
I nodded, smiling softly at the older man. He had to be in his late fifties or early sixties. “Is Maddox home?”