Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
He releases me but doesn’t move back. “You better hope she turns up,” he says, his eyes locking with mine. His face is so close I can smell his rancid breath. “Your whore of a mother made a grave error, and if she doesn’t fix it, I can’t be held accountable for what happens next,” he threatens, slamming his hand against the wall before stalking out.
As I watch him leave, several thoughts and emotions flit through my head: Anger that our mom has put us in danger—again. Fear that Phil’s threat wasn’t an empty one and the possible ramifications of him not tracking down my mom. Exhaustion, since I seriously wish I could lie down and take a long ass nap. And desperation—because all I want is to give Ellie a safe and stable home. Why must that be so difficult?
My phone dings in my pocket and when I pull it out, I find a text from unknown:
Unknown
Hey beautiful, how was your day?
I know instantly that it’s from Micah. When he asked for my number, I caved in a moment of weakness and gave it to him. And then, like a lust-struck teenager, I spent the next twenty-four hours checking my phone for a text from him.
Unknown
My thoughts go back to Sunday and how it was so easy to get lost in him, in the moment. The way he looked at me and listened to me and wanted to get to know me. And when he kissed me, I felt like I was in a fairytale, getting swept off my feet by my very own Prince Charming.
“Sienna,” Ellie whispers, causing me to look up from my phone to where she’s standing in the hallway. Her arms are wrapped around her body in a protective gesture. She’s scared. And rightfully so. Because in the world Ellie and I live in, fairytales are nothing more than make-believe stories giving false hope to people just like us.
My brain flashes back to Micah’s words after he ended the kiss: “In the same way you want someone to choose you, Sienna, I want someone to choose me.”
I’ve been thinking about what he said, what he wants. Even considered giving him a real chance. Ellie told me I deserved to find love and happiness, and for a moment, I allowed myself to believe I could somehow possibly have it.
But as much as the thought of choosing Micah gets my heart racing a little faster, deep down, I know I can’t choose him. I just don’t have any room in my life for Micah—not right now, anyway. My primary focus needs to be on Ellie and keeping her safe, which means I need to figure out where she and I will be sleeping tonight because clearly, we can’t stay here.
Sienna
I’m sorry, Micah. I made a mistake going on that date with you and giving you my number. Please don’t text me again. Goodbye.
“Go pack a bag,” I say to Ellie, pocketing my phone. “We’re going to the motel tonight.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
MICAH
“To thirty-two years of marriage. May the years to follow be just as amazing.” Lincoln holds up his flute filled with champagne, and we all raise ours, clinking our glasses together.
We’re at The Kitchen, an upscale restaurant that’s located in downtown Tesoro, celebrating our parents’ anniversary.
“Thank you,” Mom says, leaning over and kissing Lincoln’s cheek. “Maybe one day we’ll be toasting to one of your engagements…”
She side eyes me, and Lincoln snorts out a laugh. To mom, hitting thirty is apparently a signal that it’s time to settle down—especially since Dad was thirty when the two of them first met. And since I’m almost thirty-three, she thinks it’s way past time I exchange my bachelorhood status for a long-term, committed relationship. Lincoln’s twenty-nine, so he still has a little bit of time before Mom starts to get on his case.
“Never know,” Lincoln says with a smirk. “Micah’s been obsessing over a dancer at Wanderlust. Maybe you’ll get to plan his wedding sooner than you think. Or be a character witness when she files harassment charges against him.”
Both my parents’ eyes swing over to me, but before either can start in on the third degree, a masculine voice speaks first. “Good evening.”
We all glance up and find none other than Eleazar Gutierrez standing at our table with a beautiful woman on his arm.
“Mr. Gutierrez,” Dad says, standing to shake his hand. He’s the son of Eduardo Gutierrez, the crime boss who recently died from a heart attack. “I didn’t know you were back. Had I known, my boys and I would’ve come to your home to personally extend our condolences.” Lincoln and I follow our father and stand, shaking Eleazar’s hand.
“Thank you,” Eleazar says. “We only just got in a few days ago.” He gestures toward the woman on his arm. “This is my wife, Arielle.”