Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 99313 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99313 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
I straighten my shoulders and pull myself up to my full height. It’s ridiculous that I have to remind myself that I’m not the same kid Dad used to push around and bully.
Because that’s exactly what he is. What he’s always been. A fucking bully who needs to be put in his place. Except I can’t do that because he’ll take it out on Mom as soon as I leave. So, I’m stuck constantly biting my tongue and tamping down all my emotions to a place where they’re free to fester.
Dad emerges from the hall. As soon as his gaze locks on mine, his feet grind to a halt. He may act like he’s surprised to find me here, but I know he’s not. He doesn’t say one word in greeting.
Neither do I.
Our relationship evolved past niceties a long time ago. We only act like the perfect family while making public appearances. But here, in the privacy of our own home, he doesn’t bother with pretenses. And I’ve played this game for much too long not to understand the rules. He uses silence like a sledgehammer. He’s all about intimidation.
Ignoring me, Dad saunters into the kitchen, going straight to where Mom stands at the island.
She hasn’t moved a muscle. Her unease is palpable, radiating off her in thick, heavy, suffocating waves. She’s like a trapped bird who’s grown tired of beating her clipped wings against a gilded cage.
Dad surrounds her and invades her personal space. He makes a show of inspecting the steaks. “Did you get these cuts from the butcher?”
“Of course,” she says softly. “They’re T-bones, your favorite.”
He makes a non-committal noise at the back of his throat as if they aren’t quite up to par, and I want to punch him in the face for being such a dickhead. All three of us know that it’s his favorite cut of meat, but he enjoys toying with her. He relishes the fear emanating off her while she silently waits for his approval like a barely tolerated mutt at his feet.
I ball my hands into fists as anger rushes through me.
It’s beyond me why Mom stays and puts up with this crap. I wish she would pack her bags and leave. But she refuses. She gives me all sorts of bullshit excuses as to why she can’t walk away.
Once I’m drafted to the NFL and start drawing a paycheck, I’m going to get her out of here. There won’t be any excuses left to give. She can’t love this asshole. The possibility makes me shudder. If I never see him again, it would be too soon.
Dad pins her body against the counter as his gaze locks on me. His jaw tightens as he glares. “Nice of you to drop by unannounced.”
I shrug since there’s nothing I can say or do that won’t ignite his temper. I release a pent-up breath when he backs away from her.
Dad shrugs out of his jacket and carefully lays it over a high-backed chair.
“You’ll need to drop this suit off at the dry cleaners. I need it back by Monday.”
Mom nods.
“Alice!” he snaps. “Did you hear me?”
Eyes wide, her head jerks up. “Sorry, I’ll take it over first thing in the morning.”
His lips thin as he presses them together. It doesn’t take much to set him off. He’s like a powder keg waiting for an opportunity to explode. I learned early on to gauge his moods and act accordingly. I spent my entire childhood tiptoeing around him.
“Do you want me to drop it off when I leave, Mom?” I offer. “I’m going right past the cleaners.”
It’s a little out of the way, but she doesn’t need to know that.
Before she has a chance to respond, Dad bites out, “She’ll take care of it in the morning.” He glances at the chunky silver Rolex wrapped around his wrist. “Maybe after dinner, if it ever gets made.”
I clench my jaw and silently count to ten. It takes everything I have inside not to unleash my fury at his abusive treatment. If I don’t get out of here, I’m going to lose it. And I don’t want to do that. My purpose in stopping by was to check on Mom, and that’s exactly what I did.
“All right,” I say tightly, “I’ve got to take off.” Before I can think better of it, I add, “Let me know if next week works.”
As soon as the last sentence escapes my mouth, I want to suck it back in again. I almost cringe for being so careless. There’s no use hoping that he didn’t catch the words.
His body stills as his muddy brown eyes sharpen, bouncing between us with interest. “What’s going on next week?”
When no one responds, he growls, “Alice?”
Mom flinches. “Oh, um, Carter suggested that we meet for lunch.”
“No.”
The word drops from his lips like a two-ton brick.