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)
Gus did not have that perspective.
The door opened only after I’d pounded for a good two minutes. I knew he was home; the silver car was in the driveway, likely only pulling in a few minutes before I arrived.
The dull flicker of the TV was visible through the dirt.
When the door finally opened, I was met with the bitter scent of sweat and cheap liquor.
“Geeze,” he muttered, holding a beer and squinting at me. “Thought you were the cops with all the banging.”
There was a mild slur to his words. Coupled with the smell coming from him, I deduced he was drunk.
And we’d seen him driving. Down our street. Where Clara was playing. Not ten minutes ago.
I didn’t say a word before stepping forward, grasping him by his filthy collar, and slamming him against his own door.
“What the fuck, Beau?” He struggled weakly.
I zeroed in on his bloodshot eyes, trying to contain my need to drive my fist through his face.
All I could see was a crushed Toyota. Flashing lights. My life being stolen from me.
Because of this piece of shit in front of me, who didn’t have the decency to call a fucking cab after he got loaded.
I rammed him against the door. “You’ve been drinking, Gus.”
“I’m allowed to have one beer in my fucking house,” he spluttered.
I screwed up my nose at the stench he breathed in my face. “You’ve had more than one fucking drink,” I hissed. “And you drove. Down the street my daughter plays on. Where she rides her bike.” I thrust him against the door again, satisfied at the sound of his head cracking against the wood. “And you tailgate my woman when she’s driving my daughter.
“See me.” Despite the smell, I leaned in. “Look in my eyes when I tell you that if you drink and drive again, you tailgate my woman again, I’ll burn your fucking house down with you inside.”
I knew I was saying the words, and in the moment, fuck, did I mean them. There was a violence coursing through my blood that I didn’t recognize.
“You hear me?” I ground out.
“I hear you.” He sounded appropriately afraid.
He should be.
I was serious. At that moment, at least.
I looked him up and down, disgusted. When I let him go, he crumpled to the floor.
“Get a fucking hold of yourself, Gus,” I spat. “You’re a disgrace.”
“I lost my family,” he moaned from his place on the floor, not even bothering to get himself up.
A broken man. A pathetic one.
“You let them go,” I countered. “And they’re not lost. They’re on this earth. Healthy. Breathing. That’s a fucking gift. And you’re squandering it.” I shook my head. “Stay the fuck away from my girls.”
I walked out, not giving him a second glance.
I got into my truck to retrieve the knife I kept in there for emergencies. Then I went to his car and slashed all of his tires.
He’d have to sober up to fix that shit.
Then I got in my truck, starting the engine. I had other shit to do.
HANNAH
The snow stuck. It blanketed the sleepy neighborhood with a lovely white powder. Our afternoon had been spent erecting the best snowman and sculpture on the street. Then hot chocolate. Then a pot roast from Beau.
Nothing was said about where he’d gone.
We were going outside the next day when something caught my eye. A coat on the rack that hadn’t been there yesterday. Much too big for Clara and much too feminine for Beau.
I stared at it.
It was exactly the kind I’d coveted in the stores. High quality, a shiny black that almost looked like leather, gold hardware that didn’t look cheap or tacky but elegant. The fur around the collar looked luxurious. I wasn’t familiar with expensive things, but I knew that it was incredibly fancy.
Beau was standing behind me. Clara had run back to her room because she’d forgotten her gloves.
It was just the two of us.
“What is this?” I asked quietly.
“A coat,” Beau stated the obvious. “A proper one. Well, not the one I’d pick to keep you warm in fifty below, but good enough to wear at the function Calliope talked about having.” He shook his head as if Calliope—or perhaps all women—we’re exhausting.
“Calliope got this for me?” I was confused, maybe a little disappointed. It was ungrateful of me to be disappointed at having a friend who would get me an expensive coat. But Calliope wasn’t that great of a friend, as much as I wanted her to be.
“I got it for you,” Beau clarified gruffly. “Calliope helped pick it out because she knows shit about women’s clothes.”
My heartbeat was a booming drum in my ears as I fingered the zipper on the coat. “You got me a coat. You went shopping for a coat. For me.”
I was not only stating the obvious, but I was repeating it, like I had some kind of concussion.