Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Mother and son practically sprint to the door, and I don’t blame them for making an escape. If I’d been smarter, I would’ve done a tuck-and-roll out of the car on the way here.
“Happy now?” Dad grumbles at me across the table.
I give him a dismissive shrug. “I told you this was a bad idea.”
“You’re drunk and embarrassing yourself.”
“I’m fine. And we both know you’re more worried about your own reputation.”
Dad shakes his head, unhappiness filling his eyes. “All right, Fenn. You’ve made it abundantly clear you’re not interested in giving this family a chance.”
I had a family. She died. And he crawled into his shell and turned his back on me for seven years.
He pushes his plate aside and rests his elbows on the table. “Can we talk about what’s actually bothering you? Michelle says you’ve told RJ that you don’t think I care about you.”
“No. I think what I said was, you didn’t give a shit and couldn’t care less if you were paid to.”
He’s briefly aghast I’d say such a thing out loud, much less to his face. This is on him, though. Should’ve thought twice before letting his teenage son down half a bottle of mediocre champagne and then cracking open the chest of family trauma.
“What on earth would make you think something like that?” His features grow more strained. “You’re my son. I’ve cared about little else since the day you were born.”
“Wow. Dude. It’s impressive you can say that with a straight face.”
“What am I supposed to do to convince you otherwise? I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Yeah, now that you’ve got some new bimbo stewardess wife you want to impress because she’s making you feel inadequate. Like, fuck, Dad. How do you not see that’s worse?”
“Michelle’s been nothing but nice to you. If your mother were—”
“Nope.” I throw my napkin on the table, and before I’m aware of it, I’m pointing a butter knife at my father. “You keep her out of your fucking mouth.”
“Fenn!”
Whatever. I drop the knife and reach across the table for the champagne bottle. Dad reaches it first and tries to hand it off to the waiter who appears beside me.
“I’ll take that off your hands,” I tell the server.
“No, Fenn. Sit down,” David orders.
“Nah. I’m just gonna take my friend here and get loaded in the parking lot, if it’s all the same to you.”
The confused waiter looks at my dad, the three of us with our hands on the bottle. “I don’t think I can—”
“It’s cool, man.”
I tug hard on the champagne bottle and carry it with me as I storm out of the restaurant.
CHAPTER 18
CASEY
IT’S MIDNIGHT AND I CAN’T SLEEP. WHAT ELSE IS NEW, THOUGH? Immediately after the accident, I could barely get ten continuous minutes of sleep, let alone the prescribed eight hours. Then, as I began to heal, I started sleeping more. Three hours. Five. Six. Until eventually I managed to make it through an entire night without being awakened by nightmares. These days, the bad dreams still come, but not as often as they did. Falling asleep is much easier too.
Until Fenn shredded my heart to pieces.
It’s been a week since I discovered the truth, and in that week, I haven’t slept more than a few hours a night. Which means I’m wide awake when Bo scuttles to the foot of the bed and starts whining.
I look up from the glowing screen of my phone, on which I’d been mindlessly scrolling a celebrity gossip website. “What’s up, bud?”
Whining again, he gives me a pleading look.
“You need to go out?”
At the word “out” Bo scampers toward the bedroom door.
I get out of bed, my bare feet cold against the hardwood. I roll on a pair of socks and grab a long cardigan, shoving my phone into the front pocket.
I step into the dark hallway, where I squeak in surprise when I bump into Penny, who’s lurking in the darkness. Bo has already lumbered downstairs.
“Sweetheart?” The noise draws my father out of his room. Rubbing his eyes, he gives me a worried look. “Is everything all right?”
“It’s fine,” I assure him. “I’m going to let the dogs out to pee. Bo woke me up whining.” I include the lie about me sleeping because if Dad suspected I’m suffering from insomnia again, he’d send me back to the shrink.
“Don’t forget to rearm the alarm when you come back inside.”
“I won’t,” I promise and head downstairs to put on my shoes.
Outside, I shiver in the cool October air and trail after the dogs, who run toward the tree line. They both have shy bladders and refuse to go to the bathroom unless they’re hidden in the bush. I appreciate their discretion.
I tip my head up to the clear night sky and focus on the moon. It isn’t quite full, but almost. Ugh. I’m not a fan of full moons. For some reason they make me irritable. Right now, though, my irritability has more to do with the fact that my phone is buzzing, and there’s only one person who would text me this late.