Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92190 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92190 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
“So glad you actually know how babies are made,” Ford says, gaze locked on his phone screen.
“Please. Anya gave me the birds and bees talk almost as soon as we moved in, and I started fucking the neighbor’s daughter.”
Ford furrows his brow. “Wasn’t she twenty-four, and you were like sixteen?”
“Yeah, but apparently, I could still get her pregnant even then.” Hawke casually shrugs. “Neighbors were pissed.”
Ford nods once. “I always wondered why they suddenly up and left.”
“Anyway…” Eli says, glaring at them both, but mostly Hawke. “I’m going to smooth this over with Waylon Striker. You sort out your situation with the blonde and determine whether she’s an actual threat. If you’re going to go barreling in like that again, give us a heads-up.”
“As if you ever give me a heads-up whenever you’re about to do shit,” I remind him.
“Touché. But I’d rather not lose the potential of profit here. You, of all people, should understand that.”
And I do, completely.
I continue reading the file after they leave, reviewing it more than once. But every time I see the recent photos of Posie and her son, I think what a great mother she appears to be, and I can’t truly grasp what this shift within me is.
Somehow, it changes everything.
But nothing at the same time.
One thing I have to figure out is whether I have to protect my family from her or if she needs to be protected like my family.
CHAPTER 25
Posie
Aknock comes on my door at dinner time. Bentley runs to open it, and I call him back. I immediately grab for the bat, jerking Bentley behind me with such fierceness that I’m certain I startle him. I don’t mean to, but I’m rattled after the events of earlier today. The main thought going through my mind being, what if someone followed us?
“Who are you?” Bentley asks, and my heart freezes.
“I’m Dutton.”
Shit. They were never meant to meet. I’ve always been cautious about who Bentley meets. He definitely doesn’t need to meet the guy I’m fucking, or just fucked once. My mind runs through a million different ways to get out of this situation.
“That’s a weird name,” Bentley says. I somewhat hide the bat behind my back, more so for Bentley’s sake.
“And what’s your name?” Dutton asks him, and though I imagine it’s difficult for him to break away from his cool demeanor, I can tell he’s trying to be slightly gentler, as if he’s unsure how to handle himself around a child.
“Bentley,” Bentley tells him, holding out his hand.
“Dutton,” I say. Bending down to Bentley, I whisper to him, “Go back to the table and finish your dinner while Mommy talks to her friend, okay?” He drops his hand but nods before he offers Dutton a wave and runs off.
When I’m sure he’s gone, I stand, only to find Dutton watching me. Stepping outside the door, I leave it ajar behind me and position myself in front of it, still with the bat in hand, blocking the view into my home.
“That’s new.” He nods in the direction of where Bentley went.
He’s changed into a gray suit, and the gash on his cheek still looks red and angry. Though he’s clean and freshly shaven, he looks tired, and I can’t help but think I’m the cause. A pang of guilt ripples through me. I was so caught off guard in the graveyard, and my emotions were at an all-time high. I’d never been one to run, much to my detriment, but this time, I did, and I blame it on the emotional roller coaster of visiting my parents’ graves for the first time in years.
“Why are you here?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.
“I wanted to check up on you and make sure you’re okay,” he says earnestly, and his sincerity rattles me. This is all kinds of fucked-up. When I glance at his big hands, I notice the busted knuckles and a speck of blood on his gold ring.
I sigh. “You have blood on your ring.”
He raises his hand to check it himself and swears. He tries to remove the ring, but it’s stuck.
“Here.” I step forward to grab his hand, removing the tea towel over my shoulder. I rest the bat beside the door, then wipe the ring with the towel. I feel guilty because the only reason the blood is there is because of me.
“Did you kill him?” I ask quietly. I can’t even look at him; the guilt is too much. I hate that he followed me. But had he not, who knows what might’ve happened?
“You asked me not to, so I didn’t.”
I freeze for a moment before I continue cleaning the ring, and then I look up at him, still holding his hand. I never thought Dutton Taylor would do anything because I asked him to.