Total pages in book: 173
Estimated words: 163802 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 819(@200wpm)___ 655(@250wpm)___ 546(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163802 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 819(@200wpm)___ 655(@250wpm)___ 546(@300wpm)
“But, sadly, Omma didn’t approve of her. And even more sadly, my self-worth was so tied to her approval, I gave up on my best friend when she needed me the most. It really sucks,” I whispered, “when you wake up one day and realize you never had to be this lost and alone. The whole time, all you had to do is take the hand reaching out to you.”
Rhodes slowed, staring down at the shining countertop. “I... Yeah,” he said softly. “I know what you mean.”
“So, Rhodes...” I slid my hand across the countertop, laying my palm over his fingers. My other hand slipped inside the pocket of my sheath dress and turned on the recorder. “This is me reaching out. Talk to me. Be honest with me. I’ll listen.”
He blinked at our hands. “Wait, what? What are you talking about? Be honest about what?”
“I spoke to a close friend of my mom’s today, and she told me that last year, Omma hired private investigators to dig into your life, and they found something that would send you to jail.” I could’ve gone for subtlety, but every single member of my immediate family died violently, and I was the cursed bitch who had to witness it all three times, so I was officially done beating around the fucking bush.
“Excuse me!” Eyes bugging, Rhodes shot up—his hand flying away. “Put me in jail? Sue, were you talking to this woman in a locked ward in a nursing home? Because that’s the only way what you said makes sense.”
I didn’t back down. “What did my mother find out, Rhodes? What did she do with the information, because knowing her, she didn’t toss it in the trash and forget about it? Was she blackmailing you?”
“Blackmailing me?” Rhodes straight goggled at me. “Blackmailing me to do what? To live rent-free in her house? To let her help cover our losses when we had to pay to settle your lawsuits? How in the hell did I lose in those situations?”
“I’m not saying you did, Rhodes, I’m just telling you what my mom told her, so please, stop answering my question with more questions and just answer me. Did my mother dig up dirt on you?”
He tossed his head, looking to the ceiling like he was beseeching a deity for help. “Okay, fine. You want a direct answer? The answer is no. Your mother did not dig up dirt on me, because there was no dirt to find. I haven’t done anything illegal. I’ve never even double-parked.”
“Did—”
“No,” he sliced. “My turn. Did this woman really say that? She told you I broke the law, your mother found out when she hired people to dig into my life, and then apparently kept all of this from you—if you’re really standing here asking me about it.”
“All of the above,” I dropped. “Except she looked into all three of you. She came back and told Mrs. Choi that the investigators hit the jackpot, but she wouldn’t give her a name.”
He cracked a brow. “Then why are you assuming it’s me?”
“Because Omma said it was the one you’d expect,” I told him. “My mother was many things, and a racist was one of them.”
Rhodes snorted—not looking the least bit surprised. “Yeah, she was.” Rhodes returned the same bluntness. “You always denied it or made excuses for her when I brought it up. Why are you seeing the light now?”
“Because I wasn’t any better than her back then. Didn’t you see me hit rock bottom and then punch through the floor to hell when I threw coffee on that waitress? I sucked,” I said. “Honestly, why did you even marry me, weirdo?”
A startled laugh burst out of him, cracking the stern exterior. “Because I loved you, weirdo. And because...” He sighed. “I was making excuses for you too. Turns out I’m a hypocrite. There, Sue. You got me to admit it.”
I gave him a long, serious look. “That’s not the confession I’m looking for, Rhodes. Could my mother have been speaking about Micah or Alex—possibly. I doubt it, but it’s possible, and I don’t have any proof saying otherwise. But what can be proven is that you left the ballroom and went upstairs—”
“Whoa, wait—”
“—around the time she was killed. Around the time my racist, prying, digging-up-dirt-to-destroy-you-in-the-divorce mother—”
“Sue, stop,” he cried, throwing his hands up. “Are you serious right now? Are you really asking me what I think you’re asking me right now? How did we get from your mother hiring someone to dig up skeletons last year, to me killing her last week? That’s insane! Why would I even bother? She was already dying.”
“Maybe what she knew was still a threat to you—”
He flung away. “No.”
“Maybe you had to silence her for good—”
“No!”
“—and you easily could’ve stashed a second pair of clothes and—"