Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 84871 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84871 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
As much as I’m grateful for Dempsey intervening, tendrils of fear work their way through my system. I can handle Lenny retaliating against me, but I certainly don’t need Dempsey drawing away the target onto his own family.
Lenny stays where he’s at as we slip back out of the apartment. Rhiannon speed walks ahead, clearly eager to get away from that prick. Dempsey lifts his hand and runs his fingers through my hair, massaging my scalp that still stings.
“I promise,” he murmurs. “Everything is going to be okay, babe.”
Right now, more than ever, I really want to believe that.
I take his hand in mine and pretend for a moment that it will.
Dempsey
My hand hurts.
Really fucking hurts.
It’s been a while since I punched someone that hard—I certainly went easy on Trevor—but that Lenny asshole had my full wrath coming. Who the hell did he think he was putting his hands on my woman?
Sloane is extra tense as she drives. Every so often, she’ll watch her sister in the rearview mirror a little too long or glance down at the way I rub at my bruised knuckles. The whole visit was a shitshow, but at least she has her sister away from that man.
Did he hurt Kaden?
Fury quells up inside me. I want to force Sloane to turn the car around so I can give that dude a proper ass beating.
“Where are we going?” Rhiannon asks from the back seat, voice shrill and alarmed.
“I was going to take you to my place—” Sloane starts but her sister interrupts her.
“Take me to Mom’s. I need to see my momma.”
Sloane grinds her teeth together as she pulls into a parking lot, does a U-turn, and then drives in the other direction. Other than the sound of Sloane’s blinker clicking, no one says much. Sloane exhales a long sigh when we pull into an old, run-down neighborhood on the side of town Mom never lets us go to.
Walter Oaks.
“Jamie lived there,” Sloane says, pointing to a dilapidated house with missing shingles. “We used to sit in front of that fire hydrant over there and make crowns from dandelions.”
I know Mom didn’t come from money, but I didn’t realize how well off we were until now. The lawns are overgrown, with broken down vehicles peeking up from the grass. Screens hang from windows and one house has a storm door just propped up against the side nowhere near the actual door. Several houses have dogs chained out front, with shredded trash littering the area. One dog goes nuts as we pass, tugging fiercely against his chain in an effort to get to us.
This whole neighborhood is…sad.
I sometimes forget how good we have it. Hell, most of the time, in fact. My parents might be suffocating, but they’ve certainly spoiled us.
“Yes, I know. It’s a shitty neighborhood,” Sloane says tartly. “We won’t be here long. You’ll live.”
Ouch.
Didn’t realize I was so transparent.
We pull into the driveway of a yellow house. Well, it was once yellow but now has a film of dirt covering most of it. It could certainly go for a good pressure washing. Sloane hops out quickly. Rhiannon practically races for the door. I follow the two women, unsure of what to say or do in this situation. I know Sloane’s relationship with her family is strained, hence her snippiness toward me. Despite it being uncomfortable, though, I’m still here as promised.
She doesn’t have to be alone anymore.
She’s got me.
Rhiannon barges into the house. Sloane casts an apologetic look over her shoulder at me before following her inside. I pull up the rear and am met with a wall of stale cigarette smoke. I’m a guy who lights up from time to time, but the stench of it overwhelms even me. I vow, in this moment, never to do it again. It’s probably hell on the people who don’t smoke.
The home is small—maybe twelve hundred square feet and that’d be pushing it—and it’s full of people. Another woman who resembles Rhiannon and Sloane sits on a worn-out blue sofa with two children sitting with her. An older woman, but definitely related, stands by the opening of the kitchen, a lit cigarette dangling between her wrinkled lips. There are three more kids scattered about.
It’s strange to imagine Sloane living here and growing up here. There’s still so much I don’t know about her. I’m going to eventually find out everything there is to know.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” the woman from the kitchen says with hostility. “Sassy Sloane.”
Sloane purses her lips before clipping out, “Nice to see you too, Mom. Ever heard of returning a text?”
The woman puffs on her cigarette and then waves dismissively at her. “Rhiannon was fine, obviously. I don’t know why you suddenly felt the need to involve yourself in our family’s affairs.”