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)
She looks like she’s on the verge of a breakdown.
Kissing her won’t solve her problems, but it’s a distraction from the shit I’m about to pile on top of her already bad day. I press my lips to hers. “You deserve better than this, Winter. I will tell you every damn day that you’re gorgeous, inside and out. A few stitches won’t change that.” I stroke her cheek, wishing I could make her life better, hating that I’m about to make it so much worse. “You can love the person and not love their actions.”
“I just want out, BJ. Of this life. Of my head.” Her chin trembles. “I just want to feel something other than hopelessness.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I wish this wasn’t so hard.” I wrap my arms around her, and in that moment, I think I finally understand what it means to hate someone. Really and truly. Because I hate her dad for what he’s done to her. Hate that she’s stuck in a life she didn’t ask for, hate that she feels compelled to protect someone who’s so deep inside the abuse she lets her daughter be her human shield. Hate that the only thing her father does is cut her down.
I hold her for long minutes, wishing we could stay inside this bubble. What’s coming next will hurt so much worse than what she’s already been through. And I can’t protect her from it.
“I want to escape my life for a little while.” Her hands slide up my chest, and she curves her palm around the back of my neck. I let her pull my mouth to hers, and I get lost in the kiss right along with her, wanting to postpone the inevitable, but knowing I can’t.
When her hand starts to travel down my chest again, I catch it in mine and break the kiss.
Her gaze roams over my face. “Should we go somewhere else?”
Dread fills me. Noxious. Toxic. I wonder if this is how Winter feels every time she goes back to that prison of a home. “I need to tell you something.”
She frowns and drops her hand. “Your expression and tone aren’t reassuring.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” I squeeze her hand. “Your mom had an accident.”
The color drains from Winter’s face. “No, she didn’t. She’s fine. We were texting half an hour ago.” She pulls her phone out of her pocket, hands trembling as she taps on the messages. I catch a little of the content. Mostly it’s her mom begging her to apologize and make it easier on everyone.
Winter’s last message to her mom is that she needs time to cool off.
It still reads as unread. She sends another one, but it too will remain unread. I just don’t know for how long.
“The ambulance had just arrived when I drove by. They were taking her to the hospital.”
Even as she shakes her head, she asks, “What happened?”
“I think she fell, but I don’t have a lot of information yet.”
A look of horror crosses her face. “No.” She shakes her head and steps back, bumping into my Jeep. “No, no, no.” Her hand goes to her mouth. “This is because of me. This is all my fault.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I made him angry, and now she’s in the hospital.” She grabs my arms, nails digging in. “I need to see her. I need to see if she’s okay.”
“I’ll take you to the hospital.” I guide her around the hood and open the passenger-side door. She climbs in, hand over her mouth, eyes wide with worry.
I zip up her backpack and toss it in the trunk since it’s full of liquor bottles. Once I clip her bike to the rack, I rush around to the driver’s side. I turn the engine over and adjust the volume on the stereo so Robert Smith isn’t belting out “Pictures of You,” and instead, it’s just soft background noise.
“I’m scared, BJ,” she whispers.
I set my hand palm-up on the center console. “I know. I wish I had more information. We’ll be there soon, and then we can find out what’s going on.”
She laces her fingers with mine. “I shouldn’t have left her alone with him.”
“I know you’re used to holding the blame, but you had every right to get out of there. Parents aren’t supposed to rip their kids apart for making mistakes.”
“I just need her to be okay. She has to be okay,” Winter murmurs.
I don’t tell her everything will be fine, because I don’t know if that’s true. When we get to the hospital, a nurse tells us Winter’s mom is in surgery.
“Surgery? What kind of surgery? What happened?”
“She took a nasty fall and broke her arm and her leg in multiple places. They’re putting in pins and plates.”
“Is she going to be okay?”
“The doctors will be able to update you in a couple of hours. I can show you to the waiting room, if you’d like. Your dad is already here.”