Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 131455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
“Please, Bianca. Please know that I only want what's best for you. You and the baby will be much safer back at the house. Away from his enemies and the dark, violent world he lives in. Nothing is keeping you here. You don't have to stay.”
“Your right,” I agree. “I don't have to be here. Only that's just it, I want to be. This is where I belong.”
His jaw works slowly, his eyes welling up with tears. He has more to say, I'm sure, but he just gets in the car. Ken looks saddened when our eyes meet, and I raise a hand to wave goodbye, shuddering to think what would have happened if he wasn't here—then again, it's not like he did much to keep Dad from making a complete ass of himself.
The rain's starting to come down harder now, and the thunder booms louder and more frequently, so I duck inside before I get drenched. Tatum comes running from the kitchen with an ice pack in one hand when she hears me close the door. “Jesus Christ. Are you all right?”
“Physically, yes. Emotionally I feel like I got punched in the heart. I'm sorry for what just happened.”
“Don't apologize for your father. You didn't do anything wrong.”
Didn't I? It seems like no matter what I do, I feel like I'm failing. “I'm going to go upstairs to see how he's doing. Are you okay?”
“You think that's the first time I ever saw somebody punch my dad?” It's her shaky laugh that worries me. She's already going through so much, and right now she looks like a pale imitation of the girl I went to school with, shared secrets with, and did all the things best friends are supposed to do together. She was always the ballsy one, the loud, brassy kid whose shadow I could hide in. Now it's like she's hiding from herself inside that shadow, a turtle trapped inside its shell. “None of this is your fault, so don't blame yourself. Shit happens.”
“Do you want to come up with me?” I start for the stairs, looking at her over my shoulder.
“No, I don't think that's a good idea. You know what the sight of blood does to me.” She hands me the ice pack. “You should take it to him. I'll make something to eat.” I watch her walk away and already my heavy heart feels heavier, like someone's tied a brick to it. There's this invisible wall between us now. We're still friendly, cordial, and all that. However, instead of talking to each other, we're talking through a plexiglass wall, causing some of the words to be lost. I don't know how to get us back to where we used to be. Maybe we'll never be the same.
As I reach the bedroom, Romero's on his way out. “Turns out he's tough as nails and will manage to survive. Just a little bit of seepage.”
“Oh, thank God. I would hate to have to take him back to the hospital.”
“After everything that just happened…”
“If you're wondering if I'm okay, the answer is yes.” I interrupt, giving him a lame smile that probably looks more like a grimace.
He must see right through it because his brows draw together and his eyes narrow. “ Okay, well, in case you were wondering... I mean, about the camera...”
I shake my head before he can inform me of what I already know. “I already know, and I'll save you the embarrassment. We don't have to talk about it, and I honestly don't want to either.”
“Fair enough. I'll be downstairs if you need anything.”
I give him a nod. I knew it had to have been Romero as soon as Callum and him looked at each other. I've seen that look before. These men have a boatload of secrets between them. I shudder to think about the things they've done.
“I'm fine.” It's the first thing Callum says to me when I enter the bedroom to find him stretched out on his back. What I'm looking at conveys a different story: he's stripped down to his boxers, his head propped up on pillows, and his eye starting to blacken under the cut Dad gave him.
“Tatum was going to bring you this.” I hand him the ice pack, which he places over his eye.
I have so many questions.
Why does he do what he does? Why did he think the camera was the right thing to do? Why didn't he ever tell me about it? How much of my privacy did he invade, exactly?
The one at the forefront of them all is the one that pours out of me first. “What would possess you to let my father do that?” I ask, sitting on the bed next to him. Romero must have taped a new piece of gauze over his wound, since it doesn't look like there's any more blood coming through... yet. What if he's hurt worse than we suspect?