Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
His father goes still. The kind of still that happens before a shitstorm explodes. “You didn’t. You’re lying.”
“I don’t lie,” Parker says, a mean smile curving his lips. “That’s your gig, Pops, not mine.”
I bite my lip, genuinely concerned this might come to blows, right here in the hospital corridor. The nurse has abandoned her station entirely.
Smart woman.
The fluorescent above us flickers, as if the violent, potential energy crackling in the air between them is affecting its electric field.
“You think you’ve won something?” his father seethes. “Your grandmother’s dying. If not today, soon. Thanks to you, she’ll die alone in a shitty Mississippi hospital. Probably sooner than later, from what I’ve seen of their standard of care.”
“Maybe,” Parker says. “But it’s what she wants. And she won’t be alone. People like Nana always have people who love them close by.”
His father’s lips slide into a crooked smile. “I don’t know what’s sadder. How naïve you sound, or the fact that you actually seem to believe life is ever that Polly-fucking-anna perfect.”
“Oh, shut up, already,” I hear myself blurt out.
Both men swing their heads to face me, looking shocked in different ways, but fuck it.
I can’t just stand here anymore while his father runs his stupid mouth.
“Sorry,” I say, not sounding sorry at all. “But there’s nothing naïve in thinking that Chaz will die surrounded by people who love her. I love her already, and I barely know her. But I’d still drop everything and hit the road if I heard she was sick, and that’s the truth. She’s an incredible woman you should be so proud of.”
Mr. Parker arches a brow, his gaze raking over me like I’m a waitress who dared to interrupt his dinner conversation. “I’m sorry, who are you?”
Even after a second look, he really doesn’t seem to recognize me.
I exhale a strained laugh. “Seriously? It’s Makena. Makena DeWitt,” I add, when his expression remains blank.
“Come on, Mack, let’s just—” Parker reaches for my arm, but I sidestep, something hot and stupid building in my chest.
“I’m the girl who used to listen to Parker every Friday night, and some Saturdays, too. I’d do what I could to help him feel less sad about the fact that his parents were selfish jerks who never had time for their son,” I say, my voice wobbling. “That they cared more about getting wasted and fighting in the driveway after a dinner at their stupid country club than—”
“That’s enough,” Mr. Parker cuts in, sharp enough to make me flinch.
But not sharp enough to make me back down.
“Is it? I don’t think so, Phillip.” I spit his first name with the same smug derision he spits out all his awful opinions. “You stand here, mocking Parker’s very natural, very beautiful love for his nana, like it’s something to be ashamed of, while you act like treating your own mother like an inconvenience is normal. But that’s not normal. None of this is normal!”
“Makena—”
I cut Parker off, rolling too hard to stop now. “It’s not normal to care more about what you want than what makes other people happy. It’s not normal to have contempt for your own child. It’s not normal to judge and sneer and just assume your son will never be good enough, especially when Parker is the most wonderful—”
“Makena, seriously.” Parker’s hand clamps around my upper arm as he adds in a firmer tone, “Stop. Please.”
I suck in a breath, pressing my lips together to hold the rest of the words in.
But it’s too late. His father’s looking at me now. Really looking, with something worse than dismissal on his face.
The expression is horribly familiar.
He looks just like my dad did that day on the curb in Saint Magnus.
His gaze flicks to Parker, his eyebrows inching up his forehead. “Makena, the babysitter? Really? Good God, Leo.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, looking tired. Embarrassed. “I thought you’d outgrown this kind of thing.”
“We’re done here,” Parker says, his fingers tightening on my arm.
“Remember your teacher in second grade?” his father asks. “How you kept asking her to be your girlfriend? Over and over until we had to have a meeting?”
“I was a little kid, Dad, I didn’t even understand what that meant,” he says, pulling me along with him as he backs away. “It’s not the same thing at all. Not even close.” To me, he adds beneath his breath, “Walk. Now. Please.”
“We shouldn’t let him win,” I whisper back.
“Just walk. Please,” he begs.
“Okay, okay,” I mutter, allowing him to pull me around the corner, past the buzzing vending machines, to a quiet alcove near the public bathrooms.
Finally, when there’s a good hundred feet or more between us and his piece of shit father, he releases my arm. “Jesus Christ, what a shitshow.” He paces a few steps away, exhaling a ragged breath.