Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 46197 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46197 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
My dad had gotten on his knees and wept. I’d never seen him cry. None of us had. Oz said he had to walk out of the room before he fell apart, watching it. The sight had changed Mom’s mind. She’d agreed for Dad’s sake.
Now we were all pretending like life was grand while watching my mother barely touch her food, my dad rarely taking his eyes off her. It was as if he was afraid if he did, something would happen to her.
We were two days away from Christmas now, and I was going through the motions of life. The hole in my chest had morphed into a dark, endless well of misery. I didn’t want to hear another fucking Christmas song or be around any kind of joy-filled people. But for Mom, I watched the holiday movies she loved at night. No longer leaving the house much, except go see lights with her or run and get her something that she might want to eat.
Dad wasn’t leaving her side.
Forge had moved into his old bedroom, and starting tonight until Christmas, Oz and Winslet were staying in his childhood room that was now a guest bedroom with a king-size bed. The scenario of us all sleeping under the same roof again was one I would never have imagined, but then I’d never thought I’d face losing my mother. Not at this age at least. She was supposed to be old and enjoying spoiling her grandkids, watching them grow, being there for all the important things.
I sat on the edge of my bed after leaving the breakfast table and hung my head. My mom was sick, and the only person I wanted right now I couldn’t have. I couldn’t even talk to. I had no fucking idea where Bane had taken her. Was she happy with her new life? Job? Had she made friends? Or was she alone this Christmas?
“Fuck!” I growled, fisting my hair in my hands.
A knock on the door caused my head to snap up, and I expected Mom, not wanting her to see me wallowing in my constant state of misery, when Oz opened the door, then stepped inside.
I didn’t want to see him. I had to blame someone. I needed to place my rage somewhere, and he and Bane were the two I’d sunk it into.
“Get out,” I snarled.
I acted for Mom’s sake, but she wasn’t in here right now.
Oz didn’t leave but walked over to me. I straightened, glaring up at him as he got closer. He needed to get the hell out of my room.
“I said, get the—”
He held out a piece of torn paper. “Here,” he interrupted me. “Merry Christmas.”
My eyes dropped to the paper, and I stared at it, then snatched it from his grasp. There was a phone number scribbled out on it.
“Whose number is this?” I asked, studying it, memorizing it in case he took it back.
“I said, merry Christmas, didn’t I? Whose do you think it is?”
I closed it up tightly in my hand, pulling it closer to my chest, and studied him before asking, “Cressida?”
If it wasn’t, I might put the lamp beside me through a wall for the small sliver of hope he’d given me, then taken away.
He nodded. “Yeah. But that’s all. Just contact. Don’t go find her. Stay here. Christmas is in a couple of days. Let Mom have this. Then we’ll go see Linc.”
“Linc? I thought this was all Bane’s doing?”
“Bane was doing this for us. Our family. He’s the only one who knew about it. We were keeping it quiet until you and Forge were told. Bane only did what I’d asked him to do.”
“Thanks,” I said sarcastically. “Good to know who I need to blame.”
Oz didn’t respond, but gave me a tight smile, then turned and walked out of the room. The door hadn’t clicked shut before I grabbed my phone and dialed the number he’d given me. My pulse raced as it began to ring.
Twenty-Three
Cressida
The same number flashed on my screen. That was the third time in a row. I knew the area code, and I did not want to speak to anyone from Madison, Mississippi. I turned off my ringer on the first ring and went back to the mail that had been delivered. Sorting out the junk from the bills. Dr. Carmichael had told me that unless a catalog interested me to toss it along with all other “offers,” then leave the rest of the mail on his desk.
My eyes kept going back to my phone, like a glutton for punishment. This time, when it lit up, it was a text message. Nope. Not reading that either. If it was Bane checking in, he could ask Dr. Carmichael how I was doing. And if it was Kash … well … I was protecting myself. He only brought me heartache. I was sad enough as it was. I didn’t need for it to get worse.