Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“One of the bathrooms here is the size of my whole apartment. But it could be worse. Definitely better than an eight-by-eight that I had to share. How is it?” Rook asked as I took a sip.
“The best thing I’ve had in weeks.” That wasn’t hard, considering that all I’d been eating lately were two-day-old gas station hot dogs and the occasional waxy egg on a bagel. Whatever was cheapest. “Do you mind me asking what you went away for?”
“Assault.”
“On who?”
“The man who ran a sweetheart con on my mom.”
“Sounds like he had it coming.”
“More than you know,” Rook said. Then, to my surprise, he went on. “My ma has always been… fragile.”
“Fragile physically?”
“That too. But mentally. She’s bipolar.”
“But… isn’t bipolar manageable with meds?”
“It can be. It was. On and off. But she got worse as she got older. Then after the con…”
Rook trailed off, his gaze far away, his eyes haunted.
“I’m a good listener,” I invited.
“She had a rapid and severe decline after. She began rapid-cycling, self-harming. And then there was the psychosis. I could have gotten her back on track.”
“But you took your anger out on the bastard who hurt her and got locked up.”
“Yeah. And so did she. I never even got the full story about how she got sent to the facility. I’m assuming it was a suicide attempt. A seventy-two-hour hold became weeks. Then years.”
“She’s been there for years?”
“Yeah. I can’t get her out.”
“Why not?”
“Because of my P.O. She won’t even let me go visit her.” The pain in his voice was ragged. I felt torn open for him.
“Why not?”
“Mostly, I think she just gets off on the power of refusing me.”
“What about other family? Do they go see her?”
“It’s only us. I have contact with the hospital, but they can just give me general updates. I need eyes in there.”
“And only family can visit?” I asked.
“Yep,” he said, popping the p, his jaw granite. “My brother over there just suggested I get married to get someone in there.”
“I mean, it’s an idea, isn’t it?”
Why was I entertaining this? There was no way I could go through with this? Live a lie with him. Even if he would even consider me an option.
“I’m not dating anyone. I’m not even the dating type.”
“Who says it has to be real, though, right?”
“Who the fuck would agree to a not-real marriage?”
The words were out before I could even think them through.
“I would.”
Rook’s brows shot up at that.
His gaze moved over me, brows pinched. “Why would a pretty thing like you settle for a fake marriage?”
“Because I have shit taste in men… and I could use a place to crash.”
Two truths.
To cover the one I wasn’t telling him.
“Where are you crashing now?”
My chin lifted slightly, refusing to be embarrassed by my situation. “The backseat of my car.”
“For how long?”
“A couple weeks. Well, months now, I guess.”
“Christ, babe.”
“I would say that it’s not as bad as it sounds, but it’s pretty awful. I’ve had this chronic crick in my neck since that first night. And, well, the creeps.”
“Creeps? Meaning men?”
“Unsolicited dick pics pale in comparison to the disgust of waking up to someone watching you with their dick in their hands.”
“You’re sleeping here tonight,” he declared, face twisted up at the mental image I’d burned into his mind.
“I know I’m supposed to turn that down, but I’m totally not going to.”
“Good. I don’t want you to. You can have my room.”
“You’re not gonna need it?”
“Nah.” Something in his face told me that, if it weren’t for me, he would use his room. But I wasn’t about to feel guilty about putting him out. He had a whole apartment to himself if he wanted to sleep in a bed. “Is the room furnished?”
“Come on. I’ll go show you.”
“Don’t you want to party?” I asked, waving my coffee out toward where the girls were dancing and the bikers were enjoying the show.
“It’ll be going all night.”
With that, he led me out of the kitchen and into the freight elevator.
The upstairs was the same size as the lower level, but cut up into bedrooms and hall baths.
I think, more so than anything, I was surprised how damn clean everything was.
I grew up in a clubhouse where it wasn’t just cobwebs or scattered clothes around, but used condoms and fucking meth spoons and needles all over the place.
This clubhouse seemed like someone ran a vacuum and mop several times a week.
“That’s my room,” Rook said, pointing toward a closed door. “So this is the bath you can use.” He reached inside, flicking on the light. “You good?” he asked, making me realize that weird whimpering sound that I thought was just in my soul had escaped from between my lips.
“Have you ever bathed in one of those public showers at rest stops?”
“Can’t say I have. They as bad as they sound?”