Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 97369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
“I trust you. I just don’t trust Fletcher. I don’t trust him not to drag information out of you. And I wouldn’t even blame you. He’s the goddamn devil. He has a way of bringing out the worst in people while keeping absolute control over them. He’s done it with you. He’s done it with me. He can’t take something from you if you don’t have it to give. So while he’s taking breaths on this earth, I refuse to give him one more inch of my life.”
I sniffle, tipping up my chin. “So why tell me this now?”
He shrugs. “I want to know when he dies that you’ve made an informed decision about your last words to him, your last minutes with him. I know you think I’m late telling you, but I’m not too late. So now you know. And maybe it changes nothing, or maybe you want to have words with him, ask him questions, or maybe you want to spit on his face or burn his house to the ground with him in it. But I want you to know that you’ve lost your father when he dies. Whether that’s a good or bad thing in your life is not for me to decide. It’s simply a fact.”
Squinting against the sun, I gaze over his shoulder for several seconds. “I walked away from the man I love. And I never looked back. If the man I hate dies tonight, I won’t shed a tear. Father. Warden. Monster. Doesn’t matter. He’s nothing to me. And that’s by choice.” Turning, I return to the store, wiping my face to gain as much composure as possible before seeing Lincoln. He knows so little about my past. Does not sharing the awful parts with him mean I’m no different from Milo?
I don’t know anymore.
30
CAUGHT
MILO
“How is she?” Fletcher asks, staring out his bedroom window from his wheelchair.
I haven’t made it past the threshold—he senses everything, even since his health crisis.
“We didn’t say more than two words this morning, and I just got home. I haven’t seen her yet.”
“Not Jolene,” he says. “Indiana.”
I take a few steps into his bedroom, using the extra seconds to measure my words and tone.
“I’m trustworthy enough to marry your niece, to run everything in your absence, but I’m not trustworthy enough to venture into town without someone following me?”
Fletcher rolls his wheelchair around to face me. “Are you trustworthy?”
“Are you asking me this because I stopped by a floral shop or because you’ve taken my sister away from me for a second time?”
He twists the end of his mustache. “Milo, will I live to see a day that you aren’t pissed off at the world and everyone in it even though you are the only one in your family who is alive and fully functional?”
I’d prefer he not live to see his bedtime tonight, so this is a tricky question for me to answer, even if it’s rhetorical.
“Have you been in touch with Indiana for the past four years?” He lights a cigar and puffs it.
Why can’t he just die?
“Is that a real question or a test?”
“Maybe it’s both. Are you going to answer the question and pass the test?”
I shake my head. “No. I only recently ran into her.”
“And are you fucking her again?”
“And by her, you mean your daughter? Your biological daughter. The one who is blood to you? The woman I didn’t marry in a brilliant partnership to ensure your family’s legacy lives on in prosperity?”
“I don’t care for your tone, Milo. It’s funny. Since my incident, I find my humor and patience aren’t what they used to be. I think it has to do with being confined to a goddamn wheelchair instead of on my horse or driving my truck. It might have something to do with needing assistance to get dressed, bathe, and take a shit. So I’m only going to ask you this one more time … did you fuck my daughter?”
“Not recently.”
His lips bend into the hint of a smile. “Why do you hate me so much?”
I shrug. “I could ask you the same thing.”
“Is that so? You think I hate you? I’m hurt, Milo. You’re getting the keys to the empire when I die. Why do I sense that you’re hoping that day comes sooner versus later?”
“When you die, I get my sister back. Is that not reason enough?”
He barks a laugh. “Milo … Milo … Milo … Did you not take a good look at her when I granted you a visit? She’s not in great shape, despite the exorbitant amount of money I’ve donated to the cause over the years. Private care. Therapists. Chefs. Afternoons in the sunlight. If she doesn’t leave this life first, she’ll leave it when I leave it. I’ve made sure of it. Then you’ll know.”