Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 81843 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81843 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
But that’s not life. I’ve learned that the hard way. Life is the opposite of what they dangle in front of you in the movies. Sure, it has happy moments and good things, but the ending always looks more like a drama than a fairy tale.
The only happy ending I’m going to get out of Jason, or anyone else, will happen in my dreams.
Chapter 3
Jason
Iwait for the thud of Chloe’s door closing before I lean back and expel the air from my lungs.
That woman is going to be the death of me.
I massage my temples as the recurring pain I’ve been fighting rears its head again. A massage sounds fantastic, and the fact that Chloe noticed I needed one—and went ahead and scheduled it—is par for the course. It’s also one of the things I love most about her.
One of the many things.
When we met, she was a child. I vaguely remember her tromping around the house with my youngest siblings. I left home when I turned eighteen, heading to college and then the military—anything to avoid living in the same house as my father. I didn’t see Chloe again until we met at a coffee shop four years ago. I don’t like coffee but was there to get my mother a drink. Yet after seeing Chloe there? I’ve been there every day since.
For a solid year, we were coffee buddies during the week and eventually expanded it to coffee shop breakfasts on the weekends. I looked forward to her stories much more than the black coffee I ordered so I’d have something to hold. She was playful and witty. So freaking funny. And her curves? Holy fuck.
But she’d had a boyfriend and been completely off-limits.
We became such good friends, and even though I’d wanted her then, I accepted our friendship for what it was. If buying her a coffee and listening to her rambles was the only way I could spend time with her, then I’d take it.
Twelve months after we met, she mentioned off-handedly that she needed a job. I offered her a spot at Brewer Air before I realized what was happening. She was the executive receptionist until my EA position opened. Having watched how meticulously and professionally Chloe handled the receptionist role and how she often went above and beyond her responsibilities, I knew she’d be an excellent fit as my new EA. I wasted no time moving her into my adjoining office and promoting Brandi to take her place.
I still haven’t decided whether that was my life's best or worst decision.
“Jason?” Chloe says after a short beep. “I have Mr. Towlin on the line for you.”
I heave a breath and sit up, pressing the speakerphone button. “Send the call through.”
The line beeps as the call connects.
“This is Jason,” I say, still massaging the side of my head.
“Good afternoon. How are you today?”
We exchange pleasantries, something I find utterly ridiculous at this stage of the game. Nothing is pleasant about discussing your father’s felonies, upcoming trials, and how you will shield your family from it all.
“All right,” Towlin says, sighing into the phone. “I have a few things to go over with you.”
I take a quick, irritated glance at the clock. “Let’s do it.”
“Okay. I’ll start with the bad news first. I met with someone in the prosecutor’s office this morning, and it appears your father is waffling on the plea deal.”
I shove away from my desk. “What? What do you mean he’s waffling on the plea deal?”
“They’re still working on it, but the defense now wants less prison time and more time in home confinement.”
“The prosecutor can’t be considering this.”
“It’s a work in progress.”
I stand and pace the room. Memories of the day my father showed his true evil side flood my mind at warp speed.
Mom’s screams as I walked into her house. Her image on the security cameras, kneeling in front of a man with a gun pressed against her temple. Our father’s voice booming through the man’s phone. Bianca in the background, pleading with Dad to stop as he threatened to have Mom’s brains splattered across the living room—and threatening to do the same to my sister’s.
My stomach recoils.
Grabbing the assailant from behind.
Shots fired.
The gun sliding across the room.
Fists flying. Foxx Carmichael shouting through the phone as Bianca’s sobs grow louder.
Holding my mother in my arms.
Watching a man bleed on the floor, begging me to end his life. Choosing to make him live and suffer the consequences of his actions.
I heave a breath, steadying myself as adrenaline pounds through me.
“I understand your frustration,” Towlin says.
“Do you, though?” I stop pacing and stare at the phone. “If this thing goes to trial, my mother and sister will be called to testify. They’ll have to relive the day their husband and father tried to murder them. The defense will try to humiliate and vilify them in the media. They don’t deserve that.”