Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 45284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 226(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 226(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
She places her hand on my chest. It seems to be one of her favorite places to touch, as if we can communicate through the pounding of my heart alone.
“What are you thinking?” she asks.
I laugh gruffly. It’s not that there’s anything funny about this, but laughter feels like the only response, the only method by which I can let out some of this tension.
“The truth?”
“Always,” she says, which could be the most hypocritical thing she could say.
If she and her friend are plotting to—what was it she said?—bleed me dry. Then the truth is the last thing she’d want to offer me.
“It’s pretty sad,” I tell her, “or maybe you’d call it lame, but I’m thinking about something strange that happened to me when I was a kid. That’s all.”
“Tell me,” she says, “or we can talk inside if you prefer?”
Before Emma called, I would’ve leaped at this chance.
It was exactly what I wanted, to be as close to my woman as possible, to spend time with her. It could be a steamy time, or maybe just emotional, sitting with her, being with her, but now, I can’t. I won’t stop thinking about what her friend Emma said.
“I’ve got an overseas call tonight.”
It’s true, but the call isn’t for a couple of hours.
“Oh,” she says. “Seriously, Tommy, I haven’t said anything to Emma to make her think that. She was probably trying to be funny.”
There’s a pause as we stare at each other. I will myself to believe her, but it’s like this evil little prick is inside me, whispering viciously that she’s laughing at me behind my back.
“What happened when you were a kid?” she asks.
I grit my teeth, then tell her in a quick rush. I don’t want to speak about this, but at the same time, it might help her understand. If she is trying to bleed me dry, understanding won’t mean much, anyway.
“I grew up in a bad neighborhood. My mom died when I was young. My dad was a poor addict. Even so, I worshipped him. Don’t all kids worship their dads? But he never wanted to spend time with me. Then, one day, he was suddenly interested in me. For the whole summer, we did everything together. It was the best summer of my young life.”
I don’t realize I’m getting choked up until she tenderly lays her hand on my arm.
“Then, just as suddenly, he stopped. Back to his old ways.”
“What happened?”
“He wouldn’t tell me at first. Then one night, he came home completely rat arsed.”
She grins, despite the serious conversation, despite the fact she might be bleeding me dry. “Rat… what?”
Despite everything, I grin too. It’s like our connection transcends all the ugly possibilities.
“You don’t have that expression in America?”
“Ha, nope.”
“Anyway,” I go on, “he came home trollied—”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
I laugh, ignoring the notion that this could all be an act. I thought I had stopped thinking that way, but it’s returned fiercer.
“He told me the truth. My uncle had been trying to get him straightened out. This involved him paying my dad to spend time with me. All those memories, all that stupid bloody happiness, all that bullshit was only because my dad was getting paid. He was secretly gritting his teeth through every photo album moment.”
“Oh, Tommy, that’s awful, but that’s not what I’m doing. I promise.”
“I know,” I tell her.
She wraps her arms around me and cuddles close. “I mean it. I swear.”
“I believe you,” I say, but the huskiness of my voice must give me away, the telltale quiver that it’s all happening again. “I have to go.”
“Ah, right, your call.”
It sounds like she might not believe me, and that makes me more than a little sad. Despite Oliver and his wannabe hard-nut crap, this evening could’ve been classed as a success if it wasn’t for the doubt slithering into my thoughts.
“See you soon,” I say, kissing her briefly.
“Yeah, uh, okay. Bye.”
I turn and walk away, feeling torn down the middle. One half of me roars to turn back and embrace my woman and tell her I know she’d never joke with her friend about bleeding me dry.
In the car, I pat my knee. Loki climbs into my lap and curls up, looking up at me, tired from his time in the swimming pool.
“At least I don’t have to question your motives, eh, boy?”
As the driver takes me home, I make a call.
“Steve,” I say when the head of my security team answers.
“Sir?”
“Find Oliver and his associates. Use whatever resources you need. Don’t worry about the cost.”
“What do you want me to do when we find them, sir?”
“Tell me where they are.”
I hang up the phone, stroking my hand over Loki, tickling him behind the ear.
“If this is all an act,” I say softly, talking to Loki, “then she deserves an Oscar.”