Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 129323 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129323 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
Aiden Slate.
Pro hockey star. Captain of the Redville Saints. And the bane of my existence.
All it takes is a little liquid courage to storm his castle.
Or, in this case, a cushy five-star hotel suite.
I’m supposed to give him a piece of my mind.
To unleash a decade of pent-up anger.
What I’m not supposed to do is sign an NDA meant for another woman.
He thinks I’m here to relieve his stress.
Well, he’s in for a rude awakening.
Problem #1? The boy I grew up with doesn’t remember me.
Problem #2? I fall to my knees at his command. Literally.
Next thing I know, I agree to be his fake girlfriend.
He doesn't realize I’m the girl he left behind ten years ago.
The last thing I'll do is admit it.
Because Aiden might have abandoned me all those years ago.
But me? I’ll forever be his.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
“That which does not kill us makes us stronger.”
― Friedrich Nietzsche
1
CASSIDY
Twelve Years Old…
Fairytales are for suckers.
I used to live for the happily ever afters. Dreamed about what my perfect life would be like.
Now I know it’s all bullshit.
A twelve-year-old isn’t supposed to know these things. Isn’t supposed to be so jaded. But I’m not your typical twelve-year-old who gets to daydream and wish upon a star. Nope. Not this girl. Life has it out for me. It’s prepared to kick a girl while she’s down. I can see another gut punch coming from a mile away.
I can feel it in the air. The thick scent of doom. As our beat-up car rolls to a stop, life as I know it is about to change. And by the looks of it—not for the better.
Peering out the window from the backseat, I stare at the small trailer we’ve pulled up to. It’s old. Almost as fossilized as the tooth Dad lost in a parking lot bar fight, wedged so deep into the hood of his car, a pair of pliers couldn’t yank it out. Stripes of paint peel away from the siding. What was once white has now rusted over.
Corroded. Water-stained.
The roof is probably saving its collapse for the moment I step foot in the place. That’s life for me. One big punishment, occasionally punctuated by an odd serving of oatmeal or buttered toast.
I smooth out a hole in the backseat bench, fussing over loose threads, doing everything I can to avoid leaving this car. My mind shifts through a series of inconsequential thoughts.
Who was the last owner?
Is it abandoned?
And if so, for how many years?
Probably since the last world war.
It definitely looks like a casualty of one. I sigh, blowing a strand of hair out of my eyes.
The trailer sits on a snatch of grass, overgrown with weeds that scale up the sides like something out of a horror movie. It’s scary.
We sit here for so long that I convince myself that Dad’s thinking the same thing as me and we’ll ditch this place soon. But that hope quickly vanishes.
Reality is where dreams go to die.
Dad turns off the engine and steps out of the car. I watch as he walks toward my side. A part of me wonders if he’s coming for me. If he’ll open the back door and try to convince me it isn’t so bad.
He walks past me to the trunk. I knew it was wishful thinking. My dad barely acknowledges my existence.
My heart hammers, but I make no move to get out. He must realize I have no plans to exit because he storms to my window. His jaw clenches so tight it might snap.
“Come on.” He stomps his foot on the paved sidewalk, acting like more of a child than I am. “I don’t have all day.”
Normally, I wouldn’t want to piss him off. An angry Dad is a dangerous Dad. But right now, his impatience is the least of my problems. My lack of response must tip him off to the fact.
He yanks the car door open, glaring down at me. A stream of cold air blasts past him and smacks me right in the face. Goosebumps pebble over my arms.
I should get out. I should face my future head-on, but the uncertainty of what awaits me in this new dump I’m supposed to call home has me glued to my seat.
If I sit here a little longer, I can pretend this isn’t happening. Maybe Dad will grow a conscience. Maybe he’ll see how unfair this is and have mercy on me.
And maybe I’ll win the lottery and move to Maui.
It’s useless to hope. I know this. I’ve known it all my life. And still, I clutch my worn-down pink bag tight to my chest and hope.
Dad said I couldn’t bring anything. That we didn’t have room. Judging by the speck of a trailer, I can see why I had to leave my things.
I glance back down at my bag and force a smile, trying for positivity, but it’s short-lived.
This is all you have left in the world, Pippa.
That fact stings worse than the cold bite of air.
He slams a palm on the car frame, eliciting a flinch. “Get out.”
Dad must have more pressing issues than me and my turmoil. He always does. Everybody does.
Is it booze? Drugs? Probably gambling. It could be any of them—and more than likely all three. I imagine the time and attention he gives those three rival what a real parent would give their child. Not that I would know.
What I do know is we’re in this shithole thanks to these vices. It’s tempting to find some of my own. Anything to escape this hell seems good about now.
My heart rattles in my chest as I step out of the car on shaky legs. The door slamming shut behind me sends a shiver sprinting down my spine.