Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 79211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
“And what if that doesn’t work?”
He scratches his nose. “Hmm. Well, presumably the nanny will know about things like that.”
Oh, right.
I guess I’m just in a place I’ve never been before. Married, to a dangerous man I still hardly know. About to co-parent with him. Guilty I’m taking Ivy away from the only people who’ve ever loved her.
But love is messy and complicated. Protection wears many hats. And I know there are difficult choices ahead, but the hardest part of all is admitting I’ve never had a safe place to go.
Is this what I’m offering my baby?
Why does the thought of being safe terrify the hell out of me?
“You’re doing that thing again.”
“What thing?” He shouldn’t be noticing patterns with me already. It isn’t fair.
“That thing where you bite your lip because you’re all up in your head. You’re thinking about something, and you probably won’t tell me what.”
I shrug. I guess there’s no real point in hiding anything. “I just feel strange with the thought of having a safe place to go for me and the baby, you know?”
He shakes his head. “No. I don’t know. What the fuck does that even mean?”
I huff out a mirthless laugh. “It’s just so foreign to me, but it makes no sense that it scares me.” I don’t expect him to respond. I don’t even get it myself.
But when he does, he takes me by surprise. “I have a small detour to take you on before we arrive. We’re not far now and I want to show you this first.”
My heart beats faster. My palms are sweaty. I’m so nervous to get to their house, I could throw up, so I welcome the detour.
The changes around us at first are subtle. We leave the vibrant, bustling streets of the city. The smooth asphalt under our tires becomes a rugged road filled with potholes and litter. Graffiti marks subway signs and the vibrant storefronts become sparse. Boarded-up windows and stained walls give me an unsettled feeling.
“Are we still in The Cove?” I ask in a whisper.
Aleks’s jaw tightens. “Just outside it.” I’m relieved he and his brothers don’t own this area.
The air itself seems heavier, as if forgotten dreams and broken promises linger behind. The buildings themselves appear tired and worn down, as if their shoulders slump beneath the weight of what they carry.
There’s no lush greenery or pretty trees lining the streets here. Nothing but old metal and bare trunks, never mind the weeds that fight their way through cracks in the pavement. Worse than anything, sounds of cars driving by and people chatting have quickly given way to something else entirely.
A dog barks, followed by the shout of a man and the dog’s yelp. I wince even though I can’t see what happened.
“Why are you bringing me here?” I shiver and look away. I feel sad to see homeless people cowering in doorways, trash littering the ground. If the houses and surrounding buildings are neglected...what about their inhabitants?
“Aleks,” I whisper as he brings the car to a stop. This is a place people like us come to for hookers or weed and nothing more.
“Before I was adopted by my father, I lived in that house there.” He points to a brick house with steps that were once painted but have now faded. “We came from Russia and had only been here a year or two.”
A broken window’s stuffed with remnants of newspaper that’s yellowed. A sickly-looking cat scowls at us from the stoop.
“I’m sorry.” I may not have grown up in a good home, but I didn’t grow up…like this.
“Don’t be. It’s not why I brought you here.”
He drapes his arm over the steering wheel and turns to face me.
“When I left here, I was a kid. I barely knew how to tie my shoes or spell my name. And everything in my new home was shiny, pretty, and new. And it made me so fucking uncomfortable. I didn’t want scrambled eggs and fried potatoes, like my mother tried to feed me. I wanted the packaged, sugar-coated food I knew. It was what was familiar to me, even though it wasn’t what was best for me.”
I look back at the house. It’s hard to imagine Aleks as a child, but somehow, seeing this place makes it easier to do so.
A door swings open and a young girl with long, wavy hair hanging down her back comes out. Her face is streaked with tears and her eyes are red from crying. My heart twists looking at her. She trots down the steps and runs down the street, her hair waving in the wind behind her.
I’ve seen poverty and I’ve seen wealth, and I’ve seen plenty in between, but this is something very different.
“Harper.” I look over at him. “Just because we’re used to something being broken doesn’t mean it’s what’s best for us,” he says quietly. I nod and swallow my own fear and pride. I lift my chin.