Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 128356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
“What?”
“The number of miscarriages she had.”
“Oh. Were the pregnancies too close together?”
“Her entire life after me, really. She had some form of an autoimmune system deficiency. Had many failed IVF attempts and refused the notion of a surrogate. Apparently, she lost quite a few before I came along, too. After me, she had one stillborn. Three were lost in the second trimester. The rest were miscarried early on.”
“Why did she keep doing that?”
“She wanted a girl so badly.” His lips twitch a little. “Pres looked girly when he was growing up. Probably why she loved having him around. But…”
“But?” I lean forward in my chair, looking at his hair that’s falling over his forehead, hiding the scar I know is there. The one his mom gave him.
“But it was hard on her body and mental state. Especially the stillborn and the second trimester losses. It didn’t help that she’d try to conceive as soon as she could, despite the doctors’ warnings that it was turning into an obsession.”
“Your father didn’t say anything?”
He lifts a shoulder. “I don’t know. Julian said he tried to stop her, but that motherfucker is the source of all evil. If he hadn’t married her, she would’ve had a perfectly normal life.”
“But you don’t know that.” I speak softly. “She could’ve had the same problem with another man.”
“Maybe, but he made everything worse.” He pauses, runs a hand over his face, then looks away. “She had uterine cancer last year and needed a hysterectomy.”
“Oh God.”
“She…had a mental breakdown.” Jude’s voice becomes deeper as he stares at the toast in his hand. “I’ve never seen her so broken and frantic as when it was time for the surgery. She begged me to stop them, but I couldn’t, because she would have died. That fucking father of mine made them sedate and operate on her. When she woke up, she kept touching her belly and crying. She didn’t die of cancer, but three months later, she was stabbed to death in broad daylight.”
“I’m sorry.” I wipe the moisture that’s gathered in my eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
“Your apologies won’t bring her back, Violet.”
“I know. I’m just sorry because you had to go through that. It must’ve been so hard growing up dealing with the fallout of her miscarriages, then her cancer.”
He pauses, looking at me as if he’s never heard those words before.
Wait. He has, right? From Julian or his dad?
Hopefully, his mom?
She must’ve cherished the actual child who survived, right?
“Do you also tell yourself that?” he asks.
“Tell myself what?”
“That it was so hard growing up with a mother who only belittled you and made you feel worthless?”
“My mom was different.” My fingers shake on the cup. “She was a gorgeous socialite, but pregnancy killed her lifestyle, and she had no one to rely on, so she had to sell her body to feed me.”
“How is that any of your fault? Did you choose to be born? Because if you did, you sure as hell wouldn’t have chosen to be a degenerate, narcissistic woman’s daughter. Don’t make excuses for her.”
“I’m not. She did me wrong on too many levels that I’m slowly unpacking.” Like how sex is meaningless, and I shouldn’t get attached.
Last night was the first time in my life I’ve enjoyed penetrative sex and didn’t have images of my mom lying like a lifeless doll as all sorts of men rammed inside her.
“But?” He tops off my orange juice glass.
“But she was my only family, so yeah, it kind of hurt not to be loved by your only family, you know.” God, why am I even telling him this?
Maybe because he opened up about his own mother, and I got to see the human side of him in full-blown colors.
Maybe it’s because this is the first time we’ve actually sat down and talked, and I feel oddly comfortable around him.
Jude rolls the black ring on his index finger and his next words hit me in the chest. “You don’t need that type of love, even if it’s from your only family.”
27
JUDE
The crowd’s roar pierces my ears as Preston skates toward me and hits me on the shoulder.
“Nice block, big man!”
Kane pats me on the helmet as I cross my stick with other players’.
Our crowd is going wild, cheering and banging on the boards. It’s understandable, given the way we turned the game around. We were behind against the Knights, mostly because I was sent to the penalty box and they had an effective power play.
What? Number 16 hit Preston, so I had to break his legs. I didn’t manage to actually do that and just flattened him against the ice, and so I found my way back to the annoying box.
Coach Slater was screaming his head off, but I don’t really give a fuck about that, since the main reason I’m here is for the violence anyway.