Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 75633 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75633 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“Can't it wait? I'm not really...I'm just not in the mood.”
His smile disappears. He picks the slim stack of papers up, rounds the corner, and gets in my face. “Okay. You will be for this, though. Read.”
What choice do I have? What choice ever where he's involved?
My eyes skim the words. I see a judge's name, something about a restraining order, custody, and – Mia.
Jesus Christ.
My stomach tries to turn itself inside-out.
“What's the matter? I thought it'd perk you up. Soon as we show up on the Castoff's fucking doorstep, we've got him. We can get her away, somewhere safe, where she'll have a chance to – hey!”
I'm stumbling, knocking over a water bottle on the counter. I can't breathe. Hell, I try not to, because if this is really some twisted nightmare, maybe I'll finally wake up once the oxygen deprivation hits.
“Sis? Whoa. Hey, Ginger!”
I didn't even notice my sister-in-law nearby. Her hands are the only thing keeping my knees from slamming into the floor a few seconds later. I'm doubled over, both their arms tucked under my shoulders, watching hot, vicious tears slap the kitchen's wooden floor.
“Oh, Jackson, why'd you have to lay this on her now? She's been through so much. It isn't easy being stuck in the middle of all this. I told you, wait.” It's one of the few times I've ever heard her annoyed.
It doesn't help. The second I turn my head, eyeballing her growing baby bump, I want to throw up all over again.
God damn it, Marshal Howard.
A shrill whimper punctures the air. I think I'm hyperventilating.
“Mia!” I whimper, the only word I'm able to get out.
“What? What?!” Jackson barks the same question in my face twice, angrier by the second. “Don't tell me you still give a shit what happens to the kid? Can't you see what I'm trying to do here? You can't be this fucking blind, sis.”
“Jackson, don't! Come on.” Ginger's grip tightens on my arm. She tries leading me to the sofa in the living room, but my brother isn't having it, blocking our path.
“No, you come on. It's bullshit. Here I am, trying to do the right thing, searching high and low for that goddamned killer freak. Same thing anybody with a brain should've done years ago: get the kid away from him. If there was ever a bad fucking influence –“
“Jackson!” A louder male voice I don't recognize at first booms down the hall. We all stop and turn. “Enough. Leave her be.”
Dad steps into the fray, a quiet anger in his eyes. My brother stands taller, straighter, staring our father down. “Stay the hell out of this, old man. You let that freak in the house, too. Neither of you were ever fit to care for mom. Just wish I'd seen it sooner.”
I'm petrified. So is Ginger. We watch in horror as my father blinks once and then adjusts his glasses. “I wish I knew what the hell happened to you over there, son. It's sick what you've become. Fit? You're no longer fit to come here.”
I wish I could applaud my father for finally growing a backbone. Too bad it's today, after everything else has left me numb.
“Really? Just like that you've found your balls? Nice. Real fuckin' nice! This is the thanks I get for trying to track down the asshole who assaulted me twice, and put our mother in the nuthouse.”
“Leave, Jackson. I'm tired of it. Ginger, drive him home.”
My brother's eyes laser through his wife. “I know when we're not welcome. Let's fucking go.”
Her arm slips off mine. It's rare to see anyone look as disgusted as my own sister-in-law as she walks to the table, grabbing her purse, probably contemplating the painful drive home.
Jackson slumps against the wall, stewing and waiting. My father heads for the kitchen, shaking his head, knocking around cups in the cabinet more loudly than he needs to.
“What the hell were you so busy bawling about anyway? If it's not my full intent to nail that Castoff prick to the wall, then –“
“I'm pregnant.” It just falls out.
I didn't know the truth could go terminal until now.
Confusion flicks through my brother's eyes, rapidly becoming shock, and then rage. “You're...you're fucking knocked up? You've got to be shitting me, sis.” He pauses, shaking his head, jerking up and closing on me so fast he winces. “Who?”
I don't say anything. There's no point.
I'm alone, somehow still standing underneath the heat lamps where Jackson's eyes should be. And right now, I'd give anything to see Marshal again.
I don't care if it's insane. I don't care if it's desperate. I don't even care if he lied, ran, and left me behind for good.
Whatever he's guilty of, it can't be worse than weathering the explosive betrayal in my brother's face.
It's gone dead quiet in the house. I wait for Ginger to come between us, use her charm on overtime to lead him away, but she's stopped, staring, unsure. It's too much for even her.