Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 92336 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92336 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Elec O’Rourke.
Her ex.
The date on the email was from before Chelsea and I were officially a couple.
I couldn’t help but read it.
It was just a brief acknowledgement of the day we’d run into him at Bad Boy Burger way back when. From what I could see, she never responded to his message.
I was feeling incredibly happy tonight—high on life. Revved up. Impulsively, I reopened the email, clicked reply and typed:
You don’t know me, but my name is Damien Hennessey. I’m Chelsea’s husband—the same guy with the forearm tattoo from the burger joint.
Her email inbox happened to be open, and I stumbled across your message. I felt it warranted a response.
I have very mixed feelings about you. A part of me wants to hunt you down and fuck you up for ever hurting her the way you did. Another part of me wants to hunt you down and give you a big gay kiss on the lips as a thank you for the day you decided that fucking around with your stepsister was a good idea.
That didn’t exactly come out right, but you get the point.
I’d always hated you. Mainly, I hated the fact that she’d ever loved anyone before me. But as of today, I’m done hating you or anyone, for that matter.
I have a son.
He was just born a little over a month ago. I need to set an example for him.
So, this isn’t hate mail; it’s a thank you letter of sorts.
Thank you for screwing your stepsister, and in turn, breaking up with my girl.
If you hadn’t, Chelsea would be with you right now, and I would’ve never realized the greatest love of my life.
--D.H. Hennessey
I put down the laptop and took Baby D off of Chelsea, walking him over to the bedroom. Whenever his little heart beat against my chest, I tried to block out the fear that crept up, focusing instead on the healthy rhythm. I placed him in the bassinet.
Returning to the couch, I lifted Chelsea into my arms and carried her to our bed. She was still fast asleep when I put her down and covered her. It would only be another hour or so anyway before the baby would inevitably wake up hungry.
I ventured back into the living room and was just about to shut down my laptop and join Chelsea in bed when I noticed a new email had come in.
It was from Elec O’Rourke.
Damien,
Hey. I’ll forgive the slightly deranged undertone of your message. I’m thinking if you have a newborn, you’re not getting much sleep, and you’re probably just wired. Scramble the letters of wired, you get weird. Wired = Weird. If you’re not wired, then maybe you’re just a little weird. But that’s okay, because weirdness aside, you seem to really love Chelsea. She deserves someone who truly appreciates her.
Anyway, I understand what it feels like to be grateful. I have a son, too. And he’s perfect. I have no doubt that things ended up exactly as they should have.
Chelsea is an amazing woman. You’re a lucky man. I would say give her a kiss and a hug from me, but I’m afraid you might take it the wrong way, and I’d end up in a body bag.
So, just let her know I wish her the best.
As for you and me, I hope we’re cool now, although you can save the big gay kiss.
Happy New Year and congrats on your son.
--Elec O’Rourke
P.S. You were great in The Omen.
THE END