Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 69772 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69772 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
She sobbed into my neck, and I closed my eyes as the lump in my throat grew.
“I know that you and me talked about having all kinds of kids, honey,” I said softly. “But no one ever said that those kids had to be from our own bodies. Baby, you know what kind of a life I see for the kids who come through the gang program we just started? Babies. Eight. Nine. Hell, there was a seven-year-old who went through the last camp. If I could take every one of them home, I would. And baby, I know that if I asked, you’d bring them into our home. You’d bring them into your heart. And you’d love them so fuckin’ much.”
A silent sob left her throat, and I took that as agreement.
We entered the shower, and I felt her stiffen in my arms for a half a beat before she melted even more.
Meanwhile, I was boiling my skin off.
I stayed exactly where I was, though, underneath the shower heads that sprayed from both sides.
I’d designed this shower with two people in mind.
Her on one side, me on the other, with the option to meet in the middle if we were so inclined.
I put in a shower shelf for her to rest her leg on while shaving. A long insert for all of her hair products—of which they were already lining the walls after I asked Ande to get her everything she liked.
I held her, rocked her, and eventually started to run the bar of soap down the length of her back. Her arms. Her fingers. Whatever I could reach without letting her go.
“Why does the worst keep happening to me? When’s enough enough?” she whispered hoarsely into my ear.
I dropped my forehead to hers, allowing our breaths to mingle, before I said, “We’re going to make it this time, baby.”
She sniffled. “I don’t feel like I’m going to make it.”
I pulled her away so that I could stare into her eyes.
“Worst mistake of my life,” I told her hoarsely. “I thought I could scare you into leaving. I thought that…” I shook my head. “You already know what I thought. I can’t say it was the best idea in the world, but I was fuckin’ scared. I didn’t want to lose you to gang violence.” I closed my eyes. “The day before I did it, Dad came home telling me about a kid who died trying to protect his mom and sister from what he’d done. He’d decided to initiate into a gang. Killed some guy. A big wig in another gang. And when he got home, he hadn’t realized he had a tail from the rival gang. Gang rolled up and entered his house, guns blazing. Sister died instantly. Kid died trying to protect his mom. And the mom had to live the rest of her life knowing that she’d failed as a parent, and her son had been responsible for getting her daughter killed.” I smoothed my hand down the length of her face. “I didn’t want that for you. I didn’t want your brother to kill you because of what he was doing. I was fuckin’ scared, okay? I was so scared that you’d leave me. You want to know how I got through these years without you?”
Her breath hitched. “H-how?”
“I knew that you were safe,” he whispered. “You may not have been with me. You may have been half a world away. You may only have given me the scraps you were willing to give, but I knew you were safe. I knew you were healthy. I checked up on you all the time. I called my sister. I did illegal background checks. I did whatever the fuck I needed to do, and will continue to do it, as long as at the end of the day, you stay breathing.”
She let her head fall down to my chest, and I reached toward her shelf and got a handful of shampoo before I started working it through her hair.
“You always get too much,” she mumbled.
I pulled the showerhead off the wall and rinsed her hair.
She closed her eyes and tilted her head back.
God, she was so fuckin’ beautiful.
I caught up the conditioner next and worked that through her hair.
I let it sit, though, and started in again with the soap.
I started to run it down her arms, and she caught it up, as well as the razor.
Using the shelf that I made for her, she shaved her underarms, legs, bikini line, and then gestured at me. “Turn around.”
I did, and she cleaned up the spot at the back of my neck where my hair grew outside of my haircut.
I laughed when she said, “You need a haircut.”
“I’ve been busy trying to keep you fed and alive the last four weeks,” I admitted. “A haircut is the last thing that’s been on my mind.”