Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 126564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
When I reached the top of the stairs, I was so exhausted from my shift at the tattoo shop that I collapsed onto my door with a groan. Only, my body wasn’t met with a mass of hard wood. I fell on something softer…and definitely curvier.
“Bunny, you look like hell!” my mother greeted me in her signature, Julianne Thorne way.
Pulling back, I stumbled until my back hit the opposite wall, blinking. I was immediately alert. In front of me stood Dad, Hera, and Mom. No bodyguards. No security detail. For a moment, I was tempted to bark at them to go back to Texas. But then I remembered something Ilona had told me last week.
“You can’t stay away from your family forever. Even though they’re imperfect, and your feelings are valid, they still love you and care deeply about you in their own way. Don’t give up on them before you try to turn your relationship around.”
“W—what are you doing here?” I wrestled the words out of my mouth. Barely.
“It’s time we talk,” my father said, softly but sternly. It was his no-nonsense tone, and I hadn’t heard it in so long. I’d missed it, I realized foolishly. I missed his tough love. I missed his any-kind-of-love.
“We haven’t talked since that awful day when you came to Texas for a few hours. Since…” Mom drew a shaky breath, stopping midsentence.
Since I made it clear I did not consider them family after overlooking Craig’s behavior toward me.
But I’d made some progress since. I’d realized that maybe they weren’t the ones I should be angry at for that particular offense. They had their faults—they tampered with my life, with my decisions, with my well-being, and clipped my wings, putting me in a nice, golden cage. But as Ilona pointed out in one of our many sessions, they were not maliciously abusive, even if abuse did occur. And Craig’s assaults happened discreetly enough not to provoke any suspicion from them.
I swung my gaze to Hera, popping an eyebrow. “Where’s your husband?”
I already knew the answer. For once in my life, I was the snarky sister.
Hera pursed her lips, looking down. “He’s living at his parents’ now. He posted bail shortly after he got arrested.”
“Probably the first time he had to feel any sort of discomfort in his life.”
“Are you going ahead with the trial?” my sister asked.
Smiling demurely, I said, “Contrary to popular belief, I always finish what I start.”
“We’re getting a divorce,” Hera blurted out.
“Of course.” I remained unaffected. “It’s bad publicity to stay with him after what happened. Lots of headlines.”
“Is that what you think?” Hera’s mouth hung open.
I shrugged.
“Look, Hallie, we would love to talk to you inside, in privacy.” This was Dad, looking so lost, so out of his natural habitat, a pang of sorrow actually prickled at my skin. I’d never seen him so out of sorts.
I didn’t think my apartment had enough space for all of us, but I shoved my key into the lock anyway. I started messing with it when it got stuck. With a huff, I explained, “It’s a tricky one.”
Dad stepped into my personal space, taking over, holding the handle and the key. “The secret is you have to pull the handle toward you as you shove the key as deep as you can before turning.” He pushed the door open effortlessly.
With a skeptical frown, I asked, “How did you know that?”
“I worked for a locksmith all summer, every summer when I was a teenager.”
“I had no idea.”
“That’s because I hardly ever spoke to you girls about anything of importance. I’d like to change that. Now, come.”
We all filed into my living room. I didn’t make any apologies for the size of my apartment or the state of it. Or the fact the couch looked like it had seen better days—in the nineties.
Mom and Hera sat on my tiny couch, while Dad took the only stool by the breakfast nook. I landed on my twin-sized bed.
Dad looked between Hera and Mom. I always felt like they were a team, independent from me in every way, shape, and form. It seemed that way now, too. Like they spoke a secret language through their eyes alone.
“I’ll start,” Dad said decisively, when both Mom and Hera looked away, embarrassed. “The entire family owes you an apology, Hallie. And I think the right time to give you that apology was the day you came to Texas to tell us about Craig. We were so shell-shocked, so angry—at him, at ourselves—that the tragedy was clouded by rage. By the time we got our heads straight, digested everything that was said, that was done, you refused to take any of our calls. Ransom advised us to stay away—”
At the mention of his name, my heart gave a leap. But my face did not twitch. “And, well, we gave you some space. We kept calling, but we didn’t barge in. Until it became apparent that you wanted nothing to do with us—probably for good. Am I right here, Sugar Pie? Do you not want anything to do with us?”