Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
The bed dipped as he sat down next to me. “Were?”
I was relieved he didn’t seem upset at my snooping. Knocking shoulders with him, I teased, “Well, now you’re old and mature, so you’re more handsome than sexy.”
He took the photo from my hand. “Is that so?”
I watched him look down at it, rubbing his finger across the photo. “Me and Liam and the band.”
“You all look so happy. Why do you keep it in the drawer?”
“I don’t know. I guess it’s not easy to see some days.”
I knew the feeling. When I first decorated my apartment, I had days when I passed by the photo of my mother and it made me sad. But eventually I got used to seeing it, and over time, I started to smile at her each morning.
“It gets easier if you leave it out. When you tuck it away, you’re burying it, and it never heals.”
Caine looked at me and nodded in silence. Then he shut the nightstand drawer and set the small photo up on the end table. “You ready?”
I held back on showing him how giddy it made that he took my advice. The first few times he looked at it would probably be rough, but maybe it was time. Plus, I was hoping I’d be around to help him feel better as he slipped into bed each night.
Grabbing my purse in the living room, I rummaged through to find my cell as Caine slipped on his shoes. There were some loose coins on the bottom next to my phone, which gave me an idea—something I hadn’t done in a long time.
“Hang on,” I said. “I forgot something in the bedroom.”
Walking back to the end table, I took one last look at the old photo of Caine and Liam before closing my eyes and making a little wish. Then I tossed the two copper pennies in my hand on the floor for Caine to find later.
Find a penny, pick it up, and all day long you’ll have good luck.
Satisfied, I smiled and turned around to head back to the living room. Not expecting to see Caine filling the doorway, I jumped at finding him there. My hand clenched at my chest. “You scared me.”
Caine’s eyes flicked to the floor to look at the pennies and then came back to roam my face. “What the hell did you just do?”
Caine
What the fuck?
I’d been pacing since I returned from dropping Rachel at her apartment. She’d known something was off, known I was full of shit when I said I had the start of a migraine coming on. I don’t even get migraines, yet I was pretty sure the pounding in my head was leading in that direction.
It couldn’t be a coincidence.
Could it be a fucking coincidence?
I dragged my hands through my hair. Think, West, think. What the hell was that little girl’s father’s last name?
Then I remembered the file in my desk drawer. Or maybe it was in the cabinet in the office where I kept old band crap. I was certain I’d kept a copy of the police report. God knows why I’d saved it when my parents had paid a fortune to have the incident expunged and make sure my records were sealed.
I ripped my files apart looking for it. By the time I came across the faded yellow page, my office looked like it’d been ransacked.
Victim’s name: Benny Nelson
Nelson. I’d thought for sure finding out would make me relieved it wasn’t Rachel’s last name, but instead it only raised new questions.
The little girl’s mother had died the year before. That would’ve made her around nine or ten when she lost her. Same timeline as Rachel losing her mother.
Fuck.
That feeling. That goddamned feeling I’d had since the day I met her. I knew her from somewhere, but could never put my finger on it. What was it that made me feel that way? I never really saw the little girl close up—only a flash of a ten-year-old face across the span of a church and through lattice work more than fifteen years ago. Nothing was clear.
Fuck.
Rachel had said she was raised by her aunt. She’d never mentioned a stepfather. Then again, if my stepfather was an abusive child molester, it wouldn’t exactly be conversation to bring up during a date.
Bypassing the wine, I grabbed the scotch from the liquor cabinet and poured myself a double. It burned as it slid down my throat, but it felt good, like I should be on fire at the moment.
I knocked back another gulp.
Rachel had said she’d grown up a town away from me. Pleasantville is a small, blue bicycle ride away from St. Killian’s.
Another gulp.
The little girl had an older sister.
Rachel has an older sister.
Teen years where she spiraled out of control—living with that fucker Nelson would definitely make anyone turn to shit trying to forget.