Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 41143 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 206(@200wpm)___ 165(@250wpm)___ 137(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41143 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 206(@200wpm)___ 165(@250wpm)___ 137(@300wpm)
Leah's shoulders pull up, and she leans her head away from me. "Henrietta." Her voice falters as she shifts in her chair, her hands folding on the table, fingers toiling and tangling. On her right ring finger sits a thin rose-gold band, worn and slightly bent, an inscription engraved around it I can't read. Leah's face hardens. "I told you, I'm not taking them. I'm not." She looks up at the ceiling, and the kitchen light catches the tears welling at the corners of her eyes.
I lean forward, softening my voice. "Why don't you take them?" I want to help her so bad it aches, and the way Wilson and Henrietta both lord over her like a child sets my teeth on edge. I need to understand this, so I can take care of her. "Leah. Can you tell me why you don't want to take them?" Her face goes a deep pink.
Henrietta doesn't give her a chance to answer. "This is for her own good," she says, echoing my thoughts. "This is not the same as that man that hit her, high on drugs, high on pills. I wish she would see. These are for her pain. Zabka, please."
Henrietta's voice softens as she sets the bottle back on the counter. She draws a long breath, shoulders slumping, and I can tell this is an old battle. Not one she expects to win today, but she'll fire off a few volleys to let Leah know she's still dug in.
She lets the sigh go, grabs the two heaping plates, and sets them in front of us both.
"I won't take the pills. I won't take drugs." Leah's voice climbs, like a kid refusing the plate shoved in front of her. "I don't want to talk about it anymore. You seem to forget that I'm in charge here." Leah's manner turns cold. Whatever this conversation is about, it's hurting her, and I hate it. "I will not be like that man."
"What man?" I ask, already angry at whoever he is.
Leah's eyes dart from Henrietta to me, and her voice rises another notch when she speaks. "The man that drove the car that hit us that night. He killed my parents. He was taking all kinds of prescription painkillers. And he walked away with barely a scratch. How's that for justice? I can't stand anyone that has anything to do with drugs. No one in my life will ever bring that around me. Ever." Her lips tighten as she picks up a fork and stabs a carrot, pushing it around on her plate.
"Fine. You the boss. I'm leaving." Henrietta announces, slapping her hands down her apron. "I'll be back tomorrow evening. You call Fredby or Wilson if you need anything tonight, yes? I have to go to my son's wedding, otherwise I be right here. Why he needs a wedding for third marriage… stupid." She mutters, then adds something in Polish I can't decipher before going on. "He's too American. All this modern living. Marry. Divorce. Marry. Divorce." She reaches for her jacket and purse, picking them up from the end of the counter. "Take the pills, don't take the pills, but make sure you eat. You make sure she eats, yes?"
"I will." I smile, my heart thumping, already running through all the other things I want to do to her. Then it hits me. She'll be alone here tonight. May and Decker are gone, and I don't like it one bit.
Henrietta swears in Polish and bustles out the back door, leaving me with a hard-on I can't contain and a heart that aches for this beautiful, broken girl beside me. I can't help it when my fingers lift to tuck a silken tendril of her hair behind her ear.
"And I don't think she means Pop-Tarts," I add, and Leah smiles. "But, just so you know, I love blueberry ones myself."
My hand rests on the side of her head a moment too long.
And to my surprise, rather than slapping me away, she leans into my fingers.
There's no force on earth getting me out of this house tonight.
3
Leah
My skin is tingling, and my chest is warm from the way he keeps finding reasons to touch me.
First, it was my hand getting out of the car, then holding on to me, leading me to the door. Those could be explained, since they were necessary.
But now he's made me nearly gasp twice. Once, when he tucked my hair behind my ear and left his hand there. Again, a few moments later, when his fingertips grazed up and down the back of my arm while he talked about taking care of his mom.
After Henrietta left, I couldn't think of a thing to say, so Allister filled the silence with his warm voice. And I want to keep listening to him. He's not just talking to hear his own voice. He knows he's settling me with his stories. I could listen to him talk for hours and never want him to stop.