Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104239 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104239 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
“Does it matter? What I want to know is, have you told your daughter her mother is alive?” He directs a very obvious glance toward the bedroom. “Or have you been too busy doing other things? Like Delilah?”
I can barely get the words out with my teeth gritted like they are. “As I said. Leave her out of it.”
He shrugs blithely like it doesn’t matter. I suppose to him, it doesn’t. “Well? Have you?”
“What business is it of yours?”
“Considering how special she is to my son, let’s say I have a vested interest. Especially because I know Quinton. If he finds out Charlotte is here, he won’t be able to keep from telling his wife. But you and I both know you’re the one that should come from. She deserves to hear it from you.”
He’s right, the arrogant bastard. I want him to be wrong more than I want a drink, but there’s no changing the truth. If there’s one person my daughter deserves to hear this from, it’s me.
Here I am, cursing myself for letting her down in the past. I’d only let her down again if I let Quinton do the dirty work for me.
“I’m working on it.”
“Exactly how much work does it take? Simply tell her.”
“I will, Xander.”
He waves an arm around, indicating what’s still spread over half the apartment. “This can’t go on. You know that, don’t you?”
“I don’t exactly make a habit of breaking the place up.”
“You don’t need to make a habit of it,” he retorts. “Once is enough. But don’t act like this came out of the blue. You’re unraveling. A man in your position can’t afford to unravel.”
“I appreciate your concern.” It takes everything in me to keep from taking one of those chair legs and beating him to a pulp with it. A man in my position can’t afford to unravel. What the hell does he know about it? Who is he to tell me what I can and can’t afford to do?
That sort of reaction might fly if this were nearly anyone else but the man standing in front of me, wearing what looks like a touch of pity in his eyes. Anything but pity.
“So you’re going to deal with this before it escalates, and I end up with a devastated daughter-in-law and a furious son?”
“I said I would.”
“And you’re going to pull yourself together? Because you need to, badly.”
“I will,” I grunt.
“Just the same, you will understand if I stay around for a while. I, erm, think it might be wise for me to keep an eye on things.” He needs to get out of here before my fist finds his face and rearranges it.
Right now, I’d agree to anything short of castration if it meant getting him out of here before I snap. “Whatever you think is necessary. If you’ll excuse me, I have to get my day started.”
With another pointed look toward the bedroom door, Xander mutters, “Yes, it appears you do.”
He shakes his head, wearing a grim smirk. I’d love nothing more than to wipe off his face. I only have to withstand another ten seconds or so of this. He’ll be gone soon. I’m strong enough to hold on until he’s gone. Still, he steps out of the room not a moment too soon. Immediately, I turn away from the door, charge across the room, and flip the coffee table, scattering everything on it.
It’s not enough, so I turn to one of the end tables and pick up the lamp, which I then throw to the floor. The sound of breaking glass is discordant music to my ears.
But it isn’t enough. It’s never going to be enough. It won’t wipe out the memory of Xander’s judgment. Being told what to do. The sense of nothing about my life being private. Belonging only to me.
The familiar craving begins to build deep inside. The desire to break someone. To make them suffer. Bleed. Die.
And there’s no substitution for it.
26
DELILAH
Xander Rossi. I didn’t need to be formally introduced. Quinton looks just like him, although he hasn’t yet achieved the level of haughty asshole his father has. But there’s time. He’s still young.
Of all times for him to show up, this is the worst.
Lucas isn’t at his best, not even close, and then there’s the mess in the apartment! He must be dying from embarrassment.
Not that my being here makes things any easier. I know it’s now awkward for Lucas. I shouldn’t have popped out of the bedroom. Why couldn’t I just wait? They’re still talking by the time I’m finished rushing through washing up and getting dressed. I was feeling sleepy and foggy when I first got out of bed—if I hadn’t, I might’ve thought twice about opening the door.
Amazing, really, how receiving a shock like coming face-to-face with somebody you know wishes you were dead can wake you up all of a sudden.