Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 105709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
“Melissa.” My name has always fallen from his lips in a warning, whether we were between the sheets or he was dragging my drunk ass away from the clubhouse.
But never like this. Like a promise.
“Don't.” I brush past him, but he catches my wrist, pulling me back. We're too close. With his chest against my arm, his scent clinging to my skin. Soap and lavender with the subtle hint of cigarette. Since she’s been here, he’s religiously scrubbed his hands after every one.
“We need to talk about this.” His thumb traces circles against my wrist, and by God, I should not be able to feel it travel up my arm. “About us.”
“There is no us.” At some point, I’m going to have to admit that I self-sabotage more than I like to admit. Right now, isn’t it. “There's this. Her.”
“Bullshit.”
I yank my hand free, putting distance between us before I do something stupid like kiss him. “She's waiting.”
He lets me go, but I feel his eyes on me all the way down the hall. I can’t let myself go there. Not right now. Not when I know that if he ripped himself away from me after I’ve allowed myself to free-fall, I’d hit the pavement with enough gore it’d make Dexter Morgan fucking squirm. Having her in my life means I have to take myself seriously. I can’t just rely on a bottle of Hennesy and someone’s father’s dick in my guts to pull my shit together. There’s no more joking about my reliance on alcohol, or ignoring the fact that, yeah, I may have a problem just like my father did. I have to be real.
I push the door open slowly. She’s leaning against the headboard, surrounded by pillows and stuffed animals that Hella took her to buy the first week we were here. Her blonde hair is braided messy over her shoulder, my heart squeezing in my chest when the image of Hella taking the time to do something so gentle flickers through my mind.
She looks so small in Hella's massive bed.
“Hi.” I hover in the doorway. Even though he said she asked for me, I still want her to know that she’s in control of the people she allows in her circle from here on out. Even if that means me. “Hella said you asked for me?”
She nods, patting the space beside her. “Will you read to me?”
I lower myself onto the edge of the bed, taking the book she pushes into my hands. It's a battered copy of Hairy Maclary from Donaldson's Dairy, the corners rounded and pages gone soft from her fingers.
“This was my favourite when I was little,” I tell her, cracking it open. The familiar illustrations hit me somewhere deep. “My sister used to force me to read it to her, but I secretly liked it.”
“Aunt Millie?”
“Yeah. Aunt Millie.” Millie's been a ghost these past weeks, barricaded in her room like the rest of us don't exist. “She's going through some stuff right now, but she loves you very much.”
“Everyone's going through stuff.” She wriggles deeper under the blankets. “That's what Hella says.”
I twist to find Hella propped in the doorway, arms crossed, studying us with that unreadable expression he's perfected.
“He's right.” I flatten the first page with my palm. “But sometimes stuff gets better. Ready?”
She nods, and I start reading. My voice cracks on the first few words, but I find the rhythm, letting the silly rhymes carry me forward. She inches closer until her small body presses warm against my ribs, and when her head drops onto my shoulder, I have to stop. Swallowing feels like sandpaper, and I’m pretty sure my heart is about to flatline.
It’s fine. If I just remain super still, she won’t move.
By the time Hairy Maclary makes it home, she's out cold, her breathing deep and even against my arm.
I close the book carefully, not wanting to disturb her, but she murmurs something and burrows closer.
Hella crosses the room, his footsteps silent on the thick carpet. He looks between his bed and my daughter, and something cracks in his expression.
“Stay,” he whispers, so low I almost miss it. “For tonight. She went to sleep with you here, don’t wanna freak her out if she wakes and you’re gone.”
I nod, carefully shifting to lie down without waking her. Hella pulls the blanket over us both, his hand lingering on my shoulder for a moment before he retreats to the chair in the corner.
“You don't have to sit there all night,” I whisper, brushing my lips over her hair and inhaling her scent. It’s a sweeter hint of Hella’s. The thought makes me smile. Even though he made sure to buy every girly soap, wash, scrub, hair product and other random things he stumbled across, she still uses his soap. You and me both, my love.