Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 157273 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157273 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Rolling toward my white wicker nightstand to deposit my phone, I checked to make sure Lina’s amethyst ring was tucked away safely in my drawer and spotted the DNA test Juniper had demanded I take. A pang of sympathy rang through me. She just wanted to know where she fit in the world.
For the briefest of seconds, I felt bad for Hudson. The little girl had seemed wrecked.
“I’m truly, genuinely sorry. For everything.”
At least he’d apologized. There was a time I would have forgiven him, no questions asked, would have known that whatever kept him from my side was out of his control. I’d trusted him more than my own sisters. And just like I’d never understand why Lina had been taken so young, why I’d survived the crash and she hadn’t, I had to make peace with never understanding why Hudson had walked out of my life without a goodbye.
You were both kids. Let it go.
I picked up the box and read the back. Seemed easy enough. All I had to do was download the app, swab my cheek, and send it back. Considering I’d never had a child, it wasn’t like I was scared of the results. Hell, I’d been a virgin until almost twenty, long after Juniper was born.
Maybe I wouldn’t get the answers I needed from life, but I could help her by proving I wasn’t the answer to her question.
Six days later, the app sent me a notification.
My jaw dropped.
Chapter Seven
Hudson
OnPointe34: Not you guys correcting a professional dancer in the comments. Dead. The only person better than RousseauSisters4 at this is the missing half of that duo. Hey, Eva, cough your sister up before we send out a manhunt.
I rolled the warm glass of Yuengling between my palms, scraping the knobbed edges of the bottle against the table as Kurt Cobain sang about a heart-shaped box from the archaic jukebox in the corner of the bar, on which Gavin only allowed his selection of grunge or the rare punk song to play.
Six days.
Somehow, I’d made it six fucking days without driving my ass over to Allie’s and begging her forgiveness. Our past demanded more than a simple apology or a bullshit excuse. A lot more. What I’d done to her required blood, full-knees groveling, and probably a piece of my soul, and even then I wasn’t sure it would be enough.
A swift shin kick jarred me, and across the ill-lit booth, Eric Beachman’s eyes rose in expectation. “Isn’t that right, Ellis?” he prompted, glancing at the woman sitting next to me.
Right. Shit. I was supposed to be on a double date. It was the first time in a week my schedule had matched Eric’s to get out for a drink, and he’d brought his girlfriend’s sister. What the hell was her name? And what had Beachman asked?
“He doesn’t have to answer,” the brunette said with a quick, bright smile.
Jessica—Eric’s girlfriend—narrowed her eyes at me.
“Every swimmer likes to brag about the number of rescues they’ve had.” Eric helped me out, but simultaneously sent me the are-you-fucking-kidding-me look.
I cleared my throat. “Actually, I don’t keep count.” There, that was easy, even if I’d blanked on the last ten minutes of the conversation, which had been my MO all week. I’d be in the middle of something, and I’d think of Allie. Ordering new gear for the shop? Allie. Taking Juniper’s phone? Allie. Working out in the pool? Allie.
She usually lived in the back of my mind, but now she was up front and everywhere.
“I think that’s humble.” Beth—that was her name—said, her fingers drumming on the side of her empty glass as her smile widened. “I like that in a guy.”
Allie knew I was anything but humble. She’d known I was impetuous, and cocky, and so fucking arrogant, and liked me anyway.
“I’m sure he likes that you like that.” Eric took a drink.
Not sure I did. Beth was beautiful, with wide blue eyes and soft brown hair that leaned more toward chestnut than the dark coffee of Allie’s—
Stop comparing them.
It was all I’d done all night, put my funny, outgoing date up against the woman who had set my standard a dozen years ago, and that wasn’t fair. I was being a dick, and she didn’t even know it.
“How about I grab you another drink?” I offered, already sliding out of the booth as Beachman protested that we had a waitress.
I pushed my way through the Friday-night crowd, nodding to a few guys I’d gone to high school with at the dartboard and who were not perks of me being stationed in my hometown, and made my way toward my brother—who wasn’t always in the perks column either. Gavin was serving at the far end of the twelve-seat bar, so I snagged one of the two empty barstools along the narrow end and sat.