Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 131789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
“I fought a guy. It was sort of a bet? Wasn’t pretty, but I won.”
Of course, she has to scold me for embracing violence, though she doesn’t pretend to be too upset about it since we’ve already established no one ended up in the emergency room. And I tell her we got busted drinking on the soccer field. Which I suppose without all the necessary context probably sounds like the beginning or the end of a dangerous spiral.
“You’d tell me if you weren’t okay. Right, buddy?”
“Sure.”
“I’m being real with you. I know maybe we should have had a conversation like this sooner.” Mom’s voice softens. “A lot of things maybe I should have done different. But if you don’t like it there or think that place isn’t good for you, RJ, you can come home any time you want. Just say the word. I love you. I’m always here for you, no matter what. We’re a team before anything else.”
Eighteen years and I don’t think I’ve ever heard these words come out of her mouth. We don’t really do heart-to-hearts. And in more ways than not, she’s spent most of my life putting herself first, making me feel like an accessory or inconvenience. I was just the result of an unwanted pregnancy, and she never made any significant effort to convince me otherwise. We’ve mostly tried to stay out of each other’s way, but tonight, for the first time, I’m getting a glimpse of what it would be like to have a mom.
“Sounds crazy, but I am kind of happy here,” I confess. It’s a new sensation, so I’m not about to oversell it. “There’s this girl. Sloane. It’s been a crazy ride. But she’s pretty fucking great. Sort of hates me, so it’s fun.”
Mom laughs, and I can feel her shaking her head.
“And, you know, Fenn and I are getting along.”
“Yeah?”
“We hit a couple snags. But it turns out I like having a brother. I thought he was an obnoxious rich boy at first. But then I realized he’s just been lonely. Just wants someone to care about him.”
“Of course we care about him.” Mom sounds troubled. “Why would you say something like that?”
“The way he tells it, he thinks David stopped giving a shit a long time ago. Trust me, he feels strongly about it. It’s a sore subject.”
“I had no idea.” She’s quiet for a moment, absorbed in whatever’s running through her head. “Obviously David loves him.”
Sure, she has to say that. It’d be weird if she didn’t. Except I hear the doubt in her inflection. Now she’s replaying every interaction she’s witnessed between those two in the short time we all shared a roof. Recalling conversations that didn’t happen. The times David didn’t go on for hours about his son with TV-dad pride.
After we get off the phone, I’m no closer to feeling tired enough to shut my eyes, so I hop on the computer to pore through more of the Ballard security footage. For the next hour, I sit there scanning through hours of stagnant monochrome forest around the boathouse. It’s goddamn brutal.
Until I glimpse movement in the frame.
I hit play and let it run at speed. It’s blurry at first. Dark and out of focus in the corner of the image. As it comes more fully into view, I flinch, startled nearly out of my chair. Confused at first, I double-check the time stamp that the script I wrote didn’t pull in a file from the days after the accident. But there’s no mistake.
Holy shit.
Chapter 56
Sloane
On Sunday morning, I’m still under my covers hiding from daylight when Dad knocks on my bedroom door. I’m sure my groan to go away is more than clear, but he lets himself in anyway.
“You’ve got a friend downstairs.”
“No.”
This is my one recovery day where I was looking forward to sleeping in. No running or homework or chores to pry me away from my pillow. Whoever it is can make an appointment.
“They brought breakfast. Smells good.”
“Tell them to leave it.”
“Come on, kid.” Dad rips the covers off me. “Up and at ’em.”
I hate it when he does that. But whatever. I begrudgingly peel myself out of bed and throw on a sweatshirt. If Silas is ruthless enough to show up bright and early unannounced, he’s getting ugly bedhead Sloane.
Dad’s waiting for me in the hallway when I exit the room. He shifts his feet. His eyes aren’t quite focusing on me. It’s obvious he has something on his mind.
“What?” His energy is weird. It’s freaking me out.
“I want to reassure you that I was listening the other day.” His face suddenly softens with this intense tenderness that I haven’t seen since Casey and I were little, still going off on crying fits in the grocery store or in the drive-thru ordering dinner. Those first few months after Mom died, it seemed like we would spontaneously remember she wasn’t waiting for us at home and it would crush our hearts all over again. And Dad would swoop in, our gentle savior, wiping our tears and reassuring us we still had him and he would never, ever leave us.