Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 55912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
I should say yes. Nothing matters except Mom. I can see her now in that grimy kitchen or whatever room they’re keeping her in. She’ll be on her knees, her cross pendant in her hand if they let her have it, praying. Mom prays a lot. She believes. It was drilled into her as a kid. She never pushed it on me, but she never apologized for it.
But I can’t. I can’t say no, either. I can’t just give myself to him.
“I’m your prisoner. It’s not like I’ve got a choice.”
He frowns. He knows it’s a coward’s answer. He knows it’s running away from the question, but I don’t have to answer. I don’t owe this man anything. Not yet. What if he saves Mom? I’ll reward him by telling him I never want to see him again. That’s going to hurt so badly.
“Anything else?” he grunts as he plates up the eggs.
I swallow. I really don’t want to ask this, but it’s important. “Why did you break up with Mom?”
He sits back and waits a moment. “I thought you were going to ask about the wallet.”
“You helped Mom use it, but you told her too much. I know Mom. She would’ve been asking and asking. She wouldn’t have ever told Antonio if you’d kept your mouth shut. I get that, Jamie.”
He flinches as if surprised by my guessing it. “Other women might hate me for that.”
He’s right. Other daughters wouldn’t even be able to look at him, but Mom’s the one who unloaded it on Antonio. “Maybe you shouldn’t have told her anything, but we’d still be in that hellhole if you hadn’t.”
“And Simone would be safe.”
“No, maybe she wouldn’t have been kidnapped, but she wouldn’t be safe. Neither of us was there. I tried my best, but…”
He reaches across the table. He looks boyishly nervous at the last moment before taking my hand. It’s so different from how he was last night, as if he’s letting me see the good man and the bad. It’s wrong, but I squeeze onto his hand.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” I whisper.
“Lena, I’m sorry. Your mom and I lied to you.”
I pull my hand away. “About what?”
“We were never in a relationship. That was just a convenient excuse for us spending time together while I helped with the wallet, helped her fix her credit, bought the house…”
I shake my head, my mind going to all the moments Mom talked about him. There are so many memories of her looking much happier than she had in years, her eyes bright. “What about when you kissed the cotton candy off her nose at the fair?”
This memory is stunningly vivid, bursting to life in my mind undeniably. I remember it in complete detail because it often stabbed me with guilt and jealousy. Mom was sitting at the kitchen table, daintily placing her hand on her nose. “He kissed me right here.”
Jamie looks at me like a gaslighter. “That never happened.”
“Mom talked about it.” I stand up, shaking my head. “In detail. Mom might lie to me—white lies sometimes, but not like that, not giving me a play-by-play of the date. She’s not sick. I didn’t even ask her about her lame excuse. An uncle leaving her money…”
He smirks. “That’s what she said?”
I could slap him right now. Not spank, but slap him right across his face. There’s nothing smirk-worthy about this. “So, this is a joke now?”
He walks around the counter and reaches out to touch me. I raise my hand, wondering if he’ll stop. He did last night, just. Maybe he’ll throw my hand aside and pull me into his embrace, crushing me with a kiss. Perhaps I’ll like it, knowing I shouldn’t. “Don’t touch me.”
He steps back, his eyes narrowing. “I’m sorry, but your mother lied. We weren’t in a relationship.”
“Mom wouldn’t lie about that,” I hiss. “Maybe she’d avoid the issue. Maybe she’d say something general, like, ‘We had a nice date,’ but she wouldn’t create these crazy elaborate stories. What about when you danced in Abigail Park?”
He shakes his head. I search his eyes for any sign of deceit, but Mom doesn’t lie to me. Even when she scored some small lottery win, she told me. Even when she relapsed again, she told me, and I helped her. Through everything, we’ve always had honesty. She had God. She was always praying. I didn’t need that. I had my purpose. It can’t all come crashing down.
“Lena…” He raises his hand. I step back so I don’t slap it away. I want to hug him and hurt him. It’s messing my head up. I thought I saw something genuine in him. “It’s true.”
“Maybe you’re just saying this because I didn’t let you fuck me,” I say, knowing it’s bitter, knowing it’s vicious.
He suddenly surges forward, takes my shoulders, and holds me tightly. His firm body is taut all over. He looks ready to explode into lust, like he will take me whether or not I want it, but that’s a false comparison. I do want it, even when I say I don’t. With him, my man, but my mother is not a liar.