Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 111610 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111610 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
She pushes back from the table, gives me an apologetic look, and steps out back. Through the window, I can see her fall into Marvin’s waiting arms. He rocks back and forth, comforting her.
“Do you think she’s right?” Olivia’s eyes are downcast to her lap where she’s picking at her cuticles. I think if I asked her if she said something, she’d probably tell me no and that I was imagining it.
Exasperated, I sigh. “About Dad? Of course. Mom did literally everything for our family. PTA, homework, shopping, cooking, cleaning, paying the bills, making sure we weren’t feral, taking care of us, and I don’t even know what else. But yeah, she’s right.”
“No, I mean . . . about Marvin?” Olivia’s eyes lift, and she looks at me through the curtain of her hair. “Is he . . . I dunno, different than Dad?”
That brings me up short. Mom and I talked about the possibility that Olivia was trying to be protective in a twisted way, but honestly, I’d kinda written that off considering how bitchy and accusatory she’s been, especially about Mom. But maybe . . .
“I don’t really know him,” I admit. “I’ve only met him for a few minutes like you, but it sounds like he is. I know that he’s been a single parent for a while, and Noah seems happy, so that’s a good sign. He can cook and clean,” I say, pointing at the house around us, “and Mom was smiling and dancing with him, so he makes her happy too. And now . . .” I look out the window again. “He’s taking care of her.”
I take Olivia’s hand, stopping her from making her cuticle bleed. “So yeah, I think he’s different. All guys aren’t the same. All guys aren’t Dad.”
I’m talking about Marvin, but I think about Chance too. He’s nothing like my dad either. Chance is kind, generous, and cares so much for others that he’s dedicated his life to the guys in the club. He’s fun, smart, and makes me feel special. Every day is better with him in it.
I love him.
The thought is heavy, not with fear but with excitement, and for the first time, I think I might be able to let someone inside my walls.
He’s already there, I realize. He snuck in, little by little, and has been there for a while. I just hadn’t admitted it, even to myself.
“Okay,” Olivia says, nodding to herself. “If you and Mom say so, I’m okay with Marvin. But I reserve the right to say I told you so if he’s an asshole too.”
She smiles, the sadness starting to fade, and for a moment, I can see the sweet, innocent girl she once was. The one still hiding deep in a dark well of distrust and fear. The one that looks a lot like . . . me.
“Deal,” I say, speaking on behalf of both Mom and me. “You think we can stay for lunch, then?”
“Yeah, I guess.” Olivia looks out the window, and I can see the moment she gets embarrassed about this whole scene. “Oh, my God,” she gasps, her jaw dropping open in horror.
“It’s okay,” I reassure her. “You fix the drinks. The lemonade’s right there. And I’ll get everyone to the table. Hopefully, our steaks aren’t hockey pucks because I’m having brussel sprouts for dinner.” At Olivia’s questioning look, I laugh. “Just do the lemonade.”
Out back, I tell Mom, “I think we’re good. As long as Marvin isn’t secretly looking for a sugar momma so he can sit around and do nothing.”
Marvin laughs loudly. “Hell no, I’m too busy for that.”
“What’s a sugar momma?” Mom looks from me to Marvin blankly.
But I’m not explaining that to her because that conversation will segue into sugar daddies and sugar babies, so no, thank you very much. “Ask Google later. For now, Olivia’s pouring the lemonade so we can have lunch.”
“Really?” Mom asks with hearts practically in her eyes.
“Really.”
"Hey, Jim, here’s your cinnamon roll,” I tell him as I enter the club. “It’s not exactly the dinner of champions, but I didn’t think you’d mind.”
He takes the bag from me happily. “Well, it’s gonna be the dinner of this champion, that’s for sure. Thanks, Samantha.”
“You’re welcome. I’m here with counseling sessions ‘till close tonight, so don’t forget about me.”
“Nevah,” he mumbles around a mouthful of ooey, gooey cinnamon goodness. “Lemme know if you need me to knock around one of these knuckleheads.”
I grin as I head back to the meeting room. Jim plays the gruff, ‘get offa my lawn’ part well, but you can tell he really cares about the guys here. Chance asked him again about doing a car maintenance class, and though he still said no, it was a lot less ‘hell no’ and little more ‘we’ll see’. Not a slam dunk, but I think Chance’ll wear him down eventually and the club will be better for it.