Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 55395 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 277(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55395 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 277(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
We were kids when she left, her parents packing up their house to moved for her father’s job. We promised we’d stay in touch, and for a while, we did.
Then, without warning, the calls and letters stopped.
I told myself to move on, to bury the past, and never look back, making a promise of my own. To never let anyone in like that again.
Now, she’s here, living in the same house, and suddenly, everything I thought I wanted doesn't feel the same anymore.
What you'll find in Tangled
Friends to lovers
Caretaker to her parents
Jokester/Adrenaline Junky Hero
Secret pact
Hurt/Comfort
Soft to his hard
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
PROLOGUE
LYRIC
One Month Earlier
Please take care of your father, Lyric. He’ll need you when I’m gone, and don’t forget I’ll carry you with me always. I love you, sweet girl.
Those were my mom's last words before she left this side of the earth twelve years ago. The same thoughts I’ve kept at the forefront of my brain and have never let go, not even when things got worse. I stayed true to her words, promising to take care of my dad, her husband, until his final breath.
I never thought in a million years that at the age of twenty-one, I’d be called home from college to hear the news of my mom having cancer. My parents told me I could go back, visit more throughout the semester, and then change universities when the school year ended. I squashed that idea like a bug beneath my shoe, transferring in the middle of spring semester and never looking back. My then boyfriend said we could make it work, insisting that a long-distance relationship didn’t mean we’d lose touch. I remained cautiously optimistic.
Then, like the saying goes, life happened, or rather shit happened. A domino effect as disappointment sank in, when a random phone number sent me a text message with an image of him in bed with another girl. I knew everything he said was in the heat of the moment. We were young, and I had more responsibility than most peers my age. I didn’t blame him.
He’d call me in the beginning, I’d call him back when I got a minute, and the conversations would last a minute or two here and there. I’d undoubtedly be needed by my mom or dad, and, well, he’d be heading to class, football practice, or a party, so we drifted apart. I never dated again once my mom passed away after her long and drawn-out battle, trying her hardest to keep going. She was a fighter, trying every chemotherapy and radiation therapy she could, even going as far to be a part of any research trial she’d qualify as a candidate for, but nothing helped. Two years later, we reluctantly said our goodbyes, and I’ve kept my promise that I would take care of my father, the love of her life, ever since.
Of course, I had no idea what that would entail until I started really noticing things about my dad. He’d forget a few things here and there. Mainly his keys when walking out the door to work on the base, or I’d notice a couple of other things here and there. His uniform would be messed up when he’d never once allowed himself or anyone else under his command look slightly disheveled. Then his doctor’s office called to confirm an appointment, and when I mentioned it to my father, he said he had forgotten. I understood the sentiment entirely. We’d been through a lot at the end with Mom, hospice coming and going at all hours of the day during her final days.
We both stayed by her side until I heard Mom say something to Dad. That’s when realization hit that they needed alone time together. I excused myself, swallowing back the lump in the back of my throat and blinking the tears away, only allowing myself to fall to pieces once I cleared the room. I ran to the bathroom and closed the door as quietly as possible, then my back slid down the wall, and my hand covered my mouth. I found a hand towel to muffle the sobbing and allowed the emotions to take over.
We buried her three days later, my dad in his dress blues sitting beside me, holding my hand, and while he maintained a brave face, I couldn’t help the tears sliding down my cheeks, unable to keep up with them. There weren’t enough tissues to combat the tears from losing my mother. My mind went into overdrive, thinking about all the moments that had been stolen from her and, selfishly, myself.
Now, here I am, standing next to my mother’s grave, where my father is in his final resting place beside her. The doctor’s appointment after Mom’s funeral hit me in the gut yet again. His general physician brought up my mother’s concerns, which had me at a loss for words.
My father was showing signs of early-onset dementia. My big, strong father, Sergeant Major of the Marine Corps, would need to see a neurologist, which resulted in doctor after doctor. Test after test would be run, and we’d eventually receive the diagnosis Mom had been trying to find before she became so sick that she couldn’t keep up. The downfall of everything was being kept in the dark. I know they were trying to overcome obstacles and thinking that everything would be okay. You know, like Mom going into remission and Dad not being diagnosed with frontotemporal dementia.