Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 97369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
“What if what?”
He drops his hand. “I have all these things. Secrets. And keeping them is so exhausting, but necessary for now. And I thought I’d know if or when the day ever came that I no longer had to keep them. I thought it would be clear, but it’s not. Not anymore.”
“What are you talking about?”
Milo stares at me with a pained expression.
“What do you want to tell me?”
He gazes at the ceiling for a moment. “Everything.” When he looks at me again, I know he will not tell me everything.
“One. Tell me one thing. Trust me with one. Thing.”
His brow wrinkles, and his mouth opens. “Fletch—”
“Hey, sexy … thanks for … oh … oops.” Lincoln cringes when he sees Milo. “Sorry, I didn’t know you were with a customer.” He rests his hands on my shoulders and kisses the back of my head. “I’ll be unloading in the back. Let me know when you’re done here.”
Milo eyes Lincoln a little too intently.
“Okay,” I manage to whisper. “Sorry.” I wrinkle my nose. “What were you going to say?”
Milo shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. I just came to let you know about Fletcher. I’ll let you get back to work. And your boyfriend.”
“What were you going to tell me?”
He steps backward. “Nothing. It’s not important.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Well, you should. I’ll maybe see you around.” He turns toward the door, and I rush around the corner and chase him.
While he climbs into the driver’s seat, I open the passenger door and hop inside the truck.
Milo doesn’t look at me. After he fastens his seat belt, he rests his hands on his legs and stares out the windshield.
“Is it you, Milo? Are you sad about Fletcher? Am I your safe place?”
He shakes his head.
“Did you really think I’d want to know that he had an aneurysm?”
Another headshake.
“Then why?”
“He’s your father.”
I laugh. “He’s not my father. He’s the man who purchased me. He’s the man who loved Ruthie. He’s the monster she left behind. But he’s not my father.”
“Indie, he’s your father.”
“Jesus, Milo … stop saying that. I thought you understood. You were the one who told me to get as far away from him as possible. What has he said to you? Why are you on his side? I thought you were on my side.”
“I am on your side.” He looks at me for the first time since we got in the truck. “You are his biological daughter, who he didn’t want because of Ruthie. And when Ruthie couldn’t have kids, he paid your biological mother a million dollars to give you up and walk away forever.”
Some things in life don’t register—floating pieces to a puzzle that don’t seem to fit but you’ve been told they will work. Milo’s words don’t fit. They’re floating in the air, forcing me to acknowledge them. But they don’t fit.
I shake my head. “That doesn’t … no. Just … no. Who told you that?”
Milo frowns, stealing his gaze from mine. “Your mom,” he whispers.
“My …” Something catches my voice. It might be my heart figuring out what it’s feeling. Shock? Anger? Betrayal? I think it’s feeling all three and a storm of other emotions. “Ruthie?”
Milo pinches the bridge of his nose and slowly shakes his head.
“My biological mom?”
He nods, blowing out a long breath before his regret-filled eyes find mine again. “Several years after you moved in with Fletcher and Ruthie, your mom showed up. Fletcher had me remove her from the premises before Ruthie or you saw her. I wasn’t even sixteen yet, but I had a gun. So I did what I was told to do. I didn’t even know who she was until she started yelling all this stuff about him. She called him a bastard for knocking her up and then stealing her baby. She wanted you back. She wanted to know if his wife knew he got her pregnant.”
I fumble for the door handle, ramming my shoulder against the window. When the door opens, I stumble onto the sidewalk.
“Indie?”
“You knew,” I say, just above a whisper. Everything spins while I try to find my breath.
“Indie, wait.”
I sway a bit, dragging my feet back toward the store. “You knew.”
“I wanted to tell you.”
“But you didn’t.” I whip around, eyes filling with tears.
“I couldn’t.”
“I disagree. You are not mute. And even if you were, you could write it down or text me. Or sign it and at least give me a chance to figure it out.”
“There’s so much I’ve wanted to tell you, but I can’t. Not while Fletcher is alive.”
My fingers brush away tears as soon as they fall down my cheeks. “If you trusted me, you could tell me anything. I’ve trusted you. I’ve told you everything. I’ve given you my heart, my body, my everything. And you’ve given me nothing because you don’t trust me. I’ve given you all…” I shove his chest “…the…” I shove him again “…fucking…” another shove “…power.”