Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 119680 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119680 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
He smiles, teeth stained yellow and gray. “She’s my wife. I can do whatever I want to her.” It’s a taunt as much as a promise.
Less than half an hour ago I was zipping around the lake with a hot guy who’s all about taking care of people, and now I’m dealing with this nightmare.
I grab his wrist and twist, forcing him to release my mom.
Her chair falls over, and she lands on the floor in a heap. “Winter, don’t,” she pleads.
But I’m done. So, so done. “You wanna flex your muscles, big man, do it with me. At least I’ll fight back.” I grab the front of his shirt and haul him toward the screen door leading to the deck. He’s apparently not expecting this, so he stumbles over the lip and falls on his ass. His hands hit the ancient deck boards, and I can guarantee his palms are full of splinters. Serves him right.
He crab-walks backwards until he hits the rickety railing. He tries to pull himself up, but it creaks and groans ominously, so he lets it go.
“Winter, you need to stop this. Winter, honey,” Mom calls from the doorway.
I hold a hand up. “Stay where you are, Mom.”
“Please, Winter.”
I hate the tremor in her voice. The fear that makes it unsteady.
I lean over my father, wishing I could be as ruthless as him. That I could choke the life out of him. That I could set my mother free. But she’s a caged bird, too scared to spread her wings and fly. “Remember what happened the last time you put your hands on my mother?”
His jaw cracks, and he glares at me with such deep loathing I almost flinch. Almost. “Shoulda taken her to the doctor when I found out she was pregnant with ya and got rid of the problem. Then you wouldn’t be here to ruin our lives.”
His words are blades, and my armor isn’t quite thick enough to keep them from cutting. But I’ll be damned if I ever let him see that he’s hurt me. “I think you do a pretty great job of ruining your life without my help, but feel free to keep blaming me.”
“You’re an ungrateful little bitch.”
“So you keep saying.” I give him a tight smile. “You should go for a drive. Maybe visit your friends at the trailer park and bitch about me there.”
“This is my fucking house.”
“It’s not, actually. It’s in Mom’s name, not yours. And based on the will, it’s stipulated that I’m to inherit it once you’re gone. I know that’s probably a lot of big words that are too difficult for you to understand.” I hate myself for stooping to his level with the insults. “But you need some time to calm the fuck down. You can be as mad at me as you want, but Mom has nothing to do with any of this. I kept her in the dark for this exact reason.”
He gets to his feet, stumbling back a step. The railing sways, and for the briefest moment, I think the unthinkable—that it might give way and I’ll be rid of him. But he finds his balance and steps away from the edge, forcing me to step back too, so he’s not breathing his rank smoke-and-booze breath in my face.
He rolls his shoulders back. “I’ve had enough of this shit tonight.” He shoves his hand in his pants pocket, his grin malevolent. “You’ll never get out of here, Winter. Not so long as your mother is still breathing.”
He shoves by me, and Mom shuffles back as he passes through the kitchen. She grabs for his arm, apologizing, and he shakes her off, telling her it’s her damn fault. All of it. And then the porch door slams shut. Gravel pings as he revs the engine and speeds down the driveway. Every time he gets behind the wheel like this, I cross my fingers he makes it wherever he’s going. We can’t afford the hospital bills if he ends up in an accident.
When I turn back, Mom is wringing her hands. “You shouldn’t have lied about where you were going tonight.”
“I didn’t want to get you in trouble.” I step inside and close the screen door to keep the mosquitos out.
“Is that why you didn’t tell me about the acceptance letter? I didn’t even know you’d applied to college.” Accusation laces her tone.
If my mom was the one who found the letter in my room, everything else should be safe. I can deal with her hurt. I can smooth it over. I take a deep breath. “There wasn’t a point in saying anything when I didn’t know if I’d be accepted. And I applied on a whim. It doesn’t matter anyway, since I can’t afford to go.”
She peeks up at me, looking like a scolded child, not a mother. “That letter made it sound like they’d give you some money. Is that true?”