Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100086 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100086 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
No, he wouldn’t be. Cillian nodded, wishing he could say something to comfort her, but anything that came out of his mouth right now would be a lie at best, and cold comfort at worst. “Will do.” He started up the stairs, wanting to take them two at a time to get away from the uncomfortable realization that his mother was mortal.
“And Cillian?”
He stopped halfway up and turned to face her. “Yeah?”
“This has to stop.” She pressed her lips together. “I can’t have another—”
Devlin.
“I know. It will. This is the last time.” But even as he said the words, he wasn’t sure if he was telling the truth. He didn’t exactly go looking for trouble, but that didn’t stop trouble from finding him. And there was something about Olivia that screamed trouble. If he was smart, he’d send her a thank-you bouquet and leave well enough alone. Whatever was in her past had affected her deeply, and he wasn’t without his own skeletons in his closet. Throwing the two of them together might not do anything, but he was too jaded to believe that. There would be fireworks—both good and bad.
He walked into his room and headed for his second shower of the day. Doc Jones be damned, he couldn’t meet his father with his hair filthy with matted blood, and putting on the same dirty clothes after the last shower had negated its effects as far as he was concerned. He kept his head out of the direct spray as much as possible, but in the process of cleaning, he still managed to reopen the cut.
Cillian watched his blood circle the drain, letting the water beat against his back. He had to get his shit together. Now wasn’t the time to let thoughts of Olivia and the pending date distract him. He’d screwed up with missing that meeting this morning, and he’d have to be held accountable. With a curse, he shut off the water and toweled off. It was a whole hell of a lot harder to wrap his head without help, but he managed. Barely. Once he was sure he wasn’t dripping blood anymore, he went to his closet and got dressed slowly, piece by piece.
His clothing was just another indulgence, but one that had a purpose beyond spending ridiculous amounts of money. Or at least it did now. Before, it was all surface value—he had the money, and spending it on clothes was fun. Now, he was all too aware of how people looked at him, summing him up based on his appearance. He didn’t regret the tattoos, but the suit combated the instinctive judgment that some people had. How could he be a hooligan if he was wearing a ten-thousand-dollar three-piece suit?
Just a mask. He grimaced. Maybe, but it was a good mask. Putting on a suit made him feel like he was ready to face the world—like he was more than just a leaf being helplessly blown on someone else’s wind. He finished buttoning up his vest—pinstriped blue to match the blue suit and gray dress shirt—and shrugged into his jacket. He was as ready as he was going to be.
Time to face the firing squad.
Chapter Eight
Olivia managed a few hours of sleep while Hadley napped, but it was nowhere near enough. The only thing that got her through her day was the knowledge that she didn’t have a shift for two days and could sleep through the night. To keep herself occupied, she went to work tidying up the apartment. It was old and there were some stains that were never coming out, but the smell of lemon cleaner never failed to make her feel more in control of her life.
Even if it was a joke.
Hadley toddled after her, and she handed over a clean rag. This was one of their day-off rituals. As she vacuumed, Hadley bounced around and ran the cloth over the walls and the television and pretty much every available surface she could reach. Then she went behind it with one of her sticky hands, leaving a trail. Olivia laughed and shook her head. There would be a day coming at some point where she’d have to force her daughter to help clean, so she always focused on enjoying every moment she could of this innocence and fun.
That parental indulgence had never been a part of her life growing up. Andrei barely acknowledged she existed until she was around grade-school age, and her mother was even worse in some ways. She wielded guilt like it was a bladed weapon, a picture-perfect phantom of a woman who drifted in and out of Olivia’s life at the most inopportune of times. Olivia would get to the point where she was sure she was over wanting her mother to love her as more than a failed bargaining chip to force Andrei to leave his wife and marry her…And then her mother would deliver a few well-placed barbs and she’d be a mess of emotion all over again. She’d taken to avoiding the woman when she was all of ten, which worked more often than not because her mother didn’t like seeing evidence of Olivia’s existence any more than Olivia liked seeing the woman responsible for bringing her into the world.