Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 138642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 555(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 555(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
Just enough.
It’s not just me holding her. She’s holding me.
As if it’s the only way she can tell me, I’m still here.
The rough cry that boils up my throat is raw. This time, the tears aren’t so quiet and civilized.
The ugly cry that’s been building up inside me for a long time rips out as I weep over that hand clasped in mine.
“Please hold on,” I croak. “Please hold on for me.”
Still no answer.
But I don’t let her go, and she doesn’t let me go until visiting hours are over.
I’m reluctant to leave when the time comes.
I’ve been glued to this chair for so long I think my butt is molded to the seat, and it hurts to unlock my limbs and stand. But everything closes early around here and I don’t want to be the reason the day shift staff can’t get home and turn things over to the meager night crew.
So I force myself away, fondly touching Mom’s cheek one last time.
“I’ll be back soon,” I murmur. “I won’t leave you alone.”
No response, of course.
But I’d like to think she hears me in there, somewhere.
I turn to let myself out with a nod for the receptionist at the front desk. She offers me a smile full of the pity I hate—and when I smile back, it feels like defiance, as if I’m saying no, not yet. She isn’t done.
It’s not time to give in.
Angela Sanderson raised two stubborn daughters because she’s a freaking rock.
She had to be, to get by on her own.
No husband, no man, not even a boyfriend.
I’ve never met the father I share with Ros. No one knows who my mom dated, saw, slept with after her first husband—Ethan’s father—died.
I shouldn’t know that, honestly.
But, well, I guess some mysteries were never meant to be solved.
A little ironic when this is a town where everyone knows everyone else’s business—and what they don’t know, they talk about.
Sometimes in earshot of little ones who don’t need to hear those rumors at all.
Mom would never tell us the truth, even when we begged for answers.
All Ros and I know is that we have the same father. Two sisters sharing the same unknown DNA.
Even if we don’t feel so close anymore.
My nose wrinkles and that bitterness works its way up my throat.
I hate that Aleksander Arrendell is taking her away from me.
A few months ago, the very idea would’ve been unthinkable.
As I walk out to my car, I turn that over.
Am I overreacting?
Do I just hate this thing with Ros and Aleksander because I’m one of those family members who feels like my sister belongs to me? Does Aleksander disgust me because of who he is or because I’d feel the same about any interloper taking my sister away?
Part of me could see it.
It’s hard not to loathe any man inserting himself in her life when it’s just been us and Mom for so long, relying on each other, close-knit and inseparable.
Only, Aleksander Arrendell isn’t ’any man.’
He’s velvet trouble and hidden heartbreak and high-strung demands. And if Ros doesn’t watch her butt, she’s going to wind up—
Oh.
A long, swift-moving shadow stops my thoughts.
There’s someone near my car.
I stop halfway across the lot, keys clutched in my hand as my heart stalls.
There’s a big old Ford SUV parked next to my rental Corolla, blocking my view, but I can just make out a tall, lean shadow through the Ford’s tinted windows, someone milling around in the space between the cars.
“Hey!” I dart forward, pelting across the parking lot. “What are you doing? Get away from my car!”
I go swinging around the bumper of the Ford, ready to tackle whoever’s messing around with my vehicle until—
You guessed it.
There’s no one there.
My heart jams in my throat as I stop cold, straining to breathe, just staring at the yellow line between the parking spots.
Nothing.
What the hell? Did I imagine it?
Is this what too much stress does?
I shove myself between the cars, staring past the narrow band of grass beyond the edge of the parking lot to the trees bordering it before I pull myself away and walk to the sidewalk, looking left and right as I go.
Still no one around aside from a few kids just getting off the bus halfway down the block.
A few other people look bored, mulching leaves in their yards with mowers or covering their gardens with tarps for the coming winter. A middle-aged woman I don’t recognize pushes a stroller, but I don’t see that tall, quick shape anywhere.
Not him.
Not the panicked oddball who grabbed me and told me I’d die.
Ugh.
However much I downplayed it for Grant and wanted to believe he’s a harmless dementia case, maybe it did get to me.
I’m actually seeing things.
I must be.
Shaking my head at myself, I sigh and head back to my car. But just to be safe, I give it a quick once-over, popping down and peering under the wheels even if I don’t know what I’m looking for, exactly.