Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 71074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
"I can imagine," Jacob says, and I swear I see his chest puff out proud.
"I got up then to stand in front of him." Another tear comes, and I just let it drop onto the covers. "I don’t think he realized I was a little taller than him at this point. He pushed my shoulder. I remember telling myself to let it be. I was going to just take my shit and go, but then he looked me in the eye and told me that I should have died with that piece-of-shit woman he got stuck with." My eyes fly to Quinn, who has his own tears running down his face. "I struck him for the first time in my life. Punched him straight in the face. He stumbled back and then touched his jaw, turning to spit blood out of his mouth. He sneered at me, and I knew he was high. Instead of walking away, he walked toward me again. This time, I swung with everything I had. My fist connected with his jaw at the same time as the thunder rolled in. He stumbled back, falling over his ratty recliner, and instead of just grabbing my bag and walking out, I went to him. Hitting him over and over again, I knew in that single trailer where I grew up, I knew only one of us was walking out alive, and the other person would be left to die. I hit him until my hand was broken." Looking down at the hand, I open and close it. "I left thinking he was dead." I look at them. "The next day, Mayson Carey was born, and Braxton Michaels was dead."
Chapter 8
Chelsea
"The next day, Mayson Carey was born, and Braxton Michaels was dead." I put my hand against the wall as my knees give out on me. The tears are flowing like a river down my face. I can’t imagine what it must be like. "I thought he was dead." I put my hand to my mouth in order to stop the sob that wants to rip through me. "Left him for dead, and then I joined the military. Never," he says, his voice going down. "Never did I think he was alive."
"Did you check his pulse?" Ethan asks him.
"No," he says. "There was no way I thought he could survive."
"He found you," Quinn says, and I stop breathing as I hear him answer.
"Might as well get Chelsea," Mayson says. "She saved me from dying, so she should hear how it happened."
I get up slowly and walk to the kitchen to grab a glass. Turning around, I head straight to the cabinet where I keep my grandfather’s special drink. I untwist the top and pour two fingers in the glass. Ethan walks in at the same time as I pick the glass up and take down the gulp.
The burning makes me cough, and I put the back of my hand in front of my mouth. "Did you hear?" Ethan says, looking at me, and I just look back at him.
"You can’t leave him here," I tell him, and he just looks at me. "I’m not kidding, Ethan. You can not keep him here."
"Because of his past?" He glares at me, and I glare back at him.
"You fucking know what that man just dished out." I point toward the hallway, ignoring the tears rolling down my face. "What he just put out in that room. He needs help." I put my hand to my chest as his words play over and over in my head. I can’t save him is the only thing I can tell myself.
"He needs you," he says. "Look at what you did for him so far. You don’t have to do anything else but make sure he stays alive," Ethan says, and we both stop talking when we see Quinn standing there.
"She heard?" he mentions with his chin toward me, and Ethan nods. "Something tells me that what is coming next is going to hurt even more."
"Let’s go find out," I say, pouring another shot and then taking it and coughing again.
"How many is that?" Ethan asks me.
"Not enough that I can still hear his broken voice in my head," I say and walk into the room.
I look over at my father, who is about to step forward to come to me, but I give him a silent shake of my head, and he stops. My eyes fly toward Mayson, and I move them away, seeing that they are red. I want to ask him all the questions. I want him to know it doesn’t matter what happened. He’s still himself.
"Well," I say, looking at him now, putting my hands in front of me. "What are we talking about?"
"You can stop pretending you didn’t hear everything before," Mayson says, and I look at him.