Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 68390 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68390 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Does the dog count? I guess it would be four sets if he counts because he’s giving me a dirty look too. With his one eye. Jesus. And this after I stopped at three different vets on the way in order to find the miracle probiotic I was suggesting, paid for a cab, and also used my rental, which I’m pretty sure is a pet-free car, but whatever. I can afford whatever the slap on my credit card is for the cleaning fee.
Yeah, I get it. Dogs are actually a woman’s BFF, even if this dog has only known said woman for a few days. He’s still on her side. Sharing a couch with me last night didn’t endear me to him.
“Let me get this straight,” the little brother says. He looks like his sister. They have the same flaxen hair and blue eyes, but his bone structure is much less delicate than hers. He’s also about a foot or so taller. He’s even taller than me, and most people don’t get to boast that because six-three is a tough benchmark to beat. He has scrubby scruff, which indicates he’s much younger than she is because I know she’s twenty-nine, and since the dad is rocking a full beard that tells me family genetics doesn’t trend toward scrub-brush facial hair but more like get turned around and lost in the bush because it’s so thick kind of facial hair, I don’t think he’s old enough for bearding yet.
But what do I know?
That’s the kind of look Weland’s mom is giving me. It’s a look that says what the heck do I know about anything? And how could I have done this to their daughter? How could I have kind of ruined her life and then made her lie about it, even to them? What kind of person does that?
“Bry…” Weland says, a warning note in her voice. “We didn’t come here to beat anyone down or rehash things we can’t change. We came because…because I guess it’s time. We wanted to tell all of you everything. A full confession.”
“You told us everything,” Bryan argues. His death glare becomes extra homicidal, and of course, he doesn’t train it on his sister. Just on me. “He sat there and let you do it. And you clearly couldn’t come to us until he gave you permission. That’s weird and creepy. Gag orders? Seriously? Fake marriages? It all sounds just a tad like a controlling asshole to me. This is the guy you want us to give our blessing to?”
“Forgiveness doesn’t happen overnight.” Weland is so gentle. I think she’s always like this. Hard to make angry, quick to laugh, and easygoing. Somehow, she keeps putting her heart out there over and over again, even when it gets ripped up and tattered and hurt. “But yes, that’s why we’re here. Because we want to know what you think. Ultimately though, we will make our own decisions, so be gentle. People make mistakes, and this situation is still more complicated than a fifteen-minute sit down can even begin to explain.”
“You told us that you sold the rights to your songs. That’s why you had to take down the ones you had online, and that’s why you couldn’t make any more videos. Because all your work was sold.” Weland’s mom, Monique, complains. She’s an older version of Weland. Petite, lovely, and dignified with kind eyes. Except they’re not blue. “You lied to us because he made you lie to us?”
I did. I did that. I also gave Smitty a written sheet of what she could say to explain the money and why she was taking down her videos. I came up with that explanation because it was valid. And because I’m a bastard, I did use her songs. To my credit, once she read the sheet over with Smitty, she fired back that if I was paying that kind of money, I might as well have her song and all the songs she’d planned on putting online at that point. She wasn’t going to be turned into a liar.
So I had them, and I gave them away. I made exponentially more money from them than what I’m paying Weland, which makes me feel like a douchebag multiplied by a thousand.
All of this makes me feel like a total douchebag multiplied by a thousand. When laid all out on the table, it really does sound bad. It makes me sound like an unfeeling villain. Like a greedy, money-grubbing grubber of a grub, even though that’s not who I am.
“That’s not how it happened, and that’s not who he is.” Weland defends me, keeping her tone gentle but firm. It’s like my eyes are projecting words onto the wall, and she’s reading my brain like a teleprompter.
It kind of creeps me out, but the shiver that runs up my back isn’t all bad. It’s more like amazement. Being married to someone for four years doesn’t make you close to them. Being contractually married for four years definitely doesn’t make you close, yet it still feels like I know Weland, and she knows me, and now she’s reading my thoughts.