Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 99598 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99598 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
“And that awful hair… it’s a bird’s nest, Savannah. The least you can do is wear a hat and hide it if you refuse to cut it off.”
Her new thing was hating my bright red curls, and it was the one part of me I really liked. But I was old enough that she didn’t have a say in whether I cut it.
The red hair and pale skin I got from my dad, but his hair was browner with a reddish tinge, while mine was bright red.
The car swerved on and off the shoulder as she put her foot on the accelerator.
I tensed, gripping the door handle.
God, was she on something?
I leaned forward to get a glimpse of her eyes as she stared out the front windshield.
They were glassy. Like when she took too many of those pills.
I shouldn’t have gotten in the car.
My mind reeled as my mom drove too fast, then weaved on and off the road causing several car horns to honk as she narrowly missed them.
She was talking about something, but her words were mumbled and indistinguishable.
“Mom?” I said.
She went on about her job at the diner and how she needed to work extra hours this month because she was behind on our rent again. She worked nights there, so it meant I was usually alone all night.
The car hit the shoulder and skidded.
“Mom!” I shouted.
“What?” She glared at me, and I wished she hadn’t because we drifted over to the wrong side of the road.
“Mom, stop the car. Please. Stop the car. I want to get out.” I didn’t care if she never picked me up again. I wanted out of the car.
“I came all the way to pick you up, and now you want me to pull over?”
Oh, God, please pull over. Please stop.
Bile rose in my throat. “Mom, please, I’m going to be sick. Pull over.”
But it was too late.
We were going too fast.
My mom too slow to react.
Too screwed up.
Too many reasons why we never made that curve in the road. And my last thought before the deafening sound of metal crumpling was how I’d never know if Killian Kane was okay.
I sat on the damp grass cross-legged staring at the mound of dirt where my mom was buried. There was no stone yet, the funeral officiate explained to me they had to wait until the ground settled before a stone could be placed.
Everyone had left the cemetery and was at the reception. I stayed, wanting some time alone with her. Not to say anything, just to sit with her before I said goodbye. It was the last time I’d have the chance as the social worker was taking me away today.
I brushed aside the stray tears that trailed down my cheeks.
The light drizzle clung to my hair and beaded, then dripped onto my jeans leaving dark, round marks to mix with my tears.
The breeze picked up, and one of the wild pansies I’d placed on the mound of dirt blew away. I lurched forward and grabbed it, my fingers curling around the flimsy stem.
When I straightened, the hairs on the back my neck stood. I lifted my head, eyes scanning the cemetery, but I didn’t see anyone.
I lay the flower back on the mound then picked up a small stone on the pathway and placed it on the stems so they wouldn’t blow away.
That was when I glimpsed movement by the river, just past the sparse tree line to the west of the cemetery.
Killian.
After the accident, I’d been in the hospital for two days with a concussion and bruised ribs and chest from the seatbelt impact. When they released me to the social worker, I’d only had time to go home and change before the funeral.
I’d been immersed in my own hell, and what happened to Killian, even though it hadn’t slipped my mind, had been pushed aside.
It was the wave of relief pouring over me that made me realize how worried I’d been.
He stood on the edge of the bank watching me. Well, I couldn’t be sure he was watching me exactly, but he looked in my direction, and there was no one else here.
It was too far away to see his face, but there was no question it was him. Legs braced, shoulders straight and broad, and jaw tilted up.
Confident and unapologetic for staring.
He looked away and skipped a pebble across the water then kicked at something. I gasped when his fist plowed into a tree trunk nearby.
Even from so far away it was obvious he was furious, and I wondered if it was because of me. Was he mad because I was the reason he’d been arrested?
I deserved his anger. It was my fault.
Without looking in my direction, he walked away, disappearing from view, and my heart sank. I wish he’d give me a chance to apologize. It wouldn’t do much good, but it was all I had.