Total pages in book: 179
Estimated words: 170878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 170878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
I knew Clara was not entirely convinced, but she was also a kid, so she was easily distracted.
As, apparently, was I. Because I didn’t notice him until it was too late.
thirty-one
HANNAH
“Fancy seeing you here.”
I froze at the voice. Bitter. Angry. Familiar.
Quickly, I moved in front of Clara, my entire body shaking as I turned to face the owner of the voice.
He had one hand in the pocket of a cheap coat, the other grasping on to a lit cigarette.
His cheeks were red, stubble patchy all over his face as smoke blew from his mouth. His eyes were bloodshot and angry. He smelled faintly of liquor. His hair was wild around his face, greasy and longer than the last time I’d seen him. He clearly hadn’t showered in a while and had lost weight.
But it was him.
My ex-husband.
Waylon was here.
In front of me.
Us.
He’d finally been banished from my mind. I’d been expecting him to do something, after the divorce papers were returned signed without so much as a peep. I waited. It had been certain that it couldn’t be that easy. Though if I catalogued the last few years, it had never been easy.
But there was nothing. No more credit card bills. No surprise visits. Not so much as an angry phone call.
I’d let myself hope. That he was done with me.
“Who’s this?” Clara asked, confused and weary given Waylon’s disheveled appearance but not outwardly scared. Clara had never had a reason to be scared of anyone. Even men. Though she was tentative after what happened to me. She understood people could be dangerous.
My stomach roiled when Waylon’s unfocused gaze settled on her, his lips stretching to show he’d recently lost his front left tooth.
“Hiya, sweetie,” he drawled.
I gripped Clara, gently pushing her behind me again.
“Don’t you talk to her,” I hissed.
My body was already thrumming with adrenaline, knowing that we were in danger. I was practiced at reading Waylon’s body language, the glint in his eyes, the energy he radiated that stuck to your skin like oil.
He was worse than I’d ever seen him. Drunk. Possibly destitute.
“You don’t get to tell me what to do!” he yelled, leaning forward. “You ruined my fucking life. My trailer got repoed because of outstanding debts.”
I ached to tell him they were his debts that he tried to pawn off on me and not my fault. If we were alone, I might’ve let my anger make me stupid enough to stand up to him, finally. But I wasn’t alone.
Protect Clara. That was the goal.
I didn’t want to look away from Waylon, not even for a second, but my eyes ached to go toward the truck idling in the parking lot. To the man in it.
Surely Beau was watching us.
He must’ve been distracted by something. There was no world in which he’d see Waylon approach and not come running over here like a bat out of hell.
Even if he was distracted for a bit, surely he’d feel the need to look over at us soon. Watch us.
Save us.
“We can talk about this, alone,” I told Waylon. “How about you go and see your dad, Clara—”
“No!” Waylon shouted, spittle flying from his mouth. He waved erratically with the hand that had been in his pocket. The hand that was holding a gun.
My body instantaneously froze in terror, and Clara whimpered behind me, pressing her small body into my legs.
I pressed her against me with one hand willing my body to be a shield against her. I had to wait. Stall. Beau would be coming. Any moment now.
But Beau wasn’t armed. He’d rush Waylon anyway. He’d sacrifice himself for Clara.
Clara would have to see that.
I wracked my brain for an option, one that would keep Clara safe. Keep Beau safe.
“Okay, how about I come with you, wherever you want to go?” I said as calmly as I could manage. “Just you and me.”
Waylon stopped waving the gun, his eyes zeroing in on me the best they could in his substance-altered state.
He considered it. Then he shook his head. “You don’t mean it. You love the brat. I know. I’ve been watching you.”
He’d been watching. And he had chosen now. He could’ve gotten me when I was alone, but he didn’t. He had some kind of horrible plan. And it included Clara. My vision tunneled.
No. Clara was not going to survive a terminal illness, beating the odds just to have some asshole ruin her life. Over my dead fucking body.
“No. Your issue is with me.” I pulled back my shoulders, voicing the words firmly while meeting his eyes with fury.
Waylon leveled the gun on me. “I know, and I’ll ensure I get my own back. Give me the kid.”
I held Clara tighter. “No way in hell.”
“Give me the kid, or I’ll shoot.”
Beau must have been coming soon. Any moment.