Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 114775 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 574(@200wpm)___ 459(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114775 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 574(@200wpm)___ 459(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
“This isn’t a joke, Jesse! You were lucky that he didn’t call the cops!”
He folds his arms and frowns down at me. “Maybe I wanted him to. I’ve heard that prison is cushy. Might be better than where I am now.”
My eyes widen, and fear bangs my heart against my chest. “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” I bite.
“No? Then, why don’t you tell me?” he challenges.
“Because you don’t need to know.” I lift my eyes to his, trying to convey my feelings. “No kid needs to know what the inside of a prison is like.”
His brows draw together in anger. “I’m not a kid,” he grinds out.
“Yes, you are!” I snap. “You’re my kid!” The words are out before I can stop them.
His eyes ignite with something that makes my stomach twist. “I’m not your kid!” he yells. “I don’t have parents!”
Something snaps inside me, and I don’t care that there are people around, listening. “Yes, you do! You have me!” I slam a hand to my chest. “On paper, I might be your sister, but I raised you, Jesse! Changed your nappies! Fed you! Clothed! Nursed you when you were sick! Read you bedtime stories! Went to all of your school plays! I raised you!”
“And then you fucking left me!” he roars.
The pain in his words is so apparent, and it takes me back a step, like a blade going through my chest. I can’t even pull him up for swearing. In the grand scheme of things, Jesse saying a curse word is nothing.
He’s hurting. Because of me.
“You…left,” he whispers.
And the ache of his words only intensifies, like the blade in my chest is being twisted.
“Jesse”—I step closer to him—“you have to know that I didn’t want to leave. I would have done anything to stay with you. Anything.”
His eyes flash to mine. “But you didn’t though, did you, Daisy? You stole from that place, knowing what the consequences would be. Or did you just not care? Or were you that arrogant that you thought you wouldn’t get caught?”
He still thinks I’m guilty. Even now. Even though I told him in person that I was innocent, he still doesn’t believe me.
I can’t express the torment I feel at that.
I wrap my arms over my chest. My words come quietly. “You know me, Jesse. I’m not a thief. Deep down inside of you, you know I didn’t steal that jewelry. You know I would never have done something like that.”
Not meeting my eyes, he lets out a scoffing sound. It reignites something inside me.
“You can fool yourself into believing it’s the truth—that I’m this thief who never cared about you—because you think it justifies your anger and your current behavior. But you know it’s not the truth. You know that I would never have done anything to risk losing you.”
His eyes come to mine. I can’t get a read on them.
“Why should I believe you?” His voice is still toneless.
“Because I’ve never given you a reason not to believe me. I was there, Jesse…through everything. I never walked away. The only reason I left was because I was taken away without a choice. But I’m back now. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. I’ll never leave. I’ll never let anyone take me away again. But you have to let me in. Please.”
Sighing, he looks away and runs a hand through his hair. When he brings his eyes back to me, I see the hardness in them has softened.
“Why didn’t you let me come see you in prison?” he asks in a low voice.
I’m transported back years. He sounds just like the boy I remember.
My heart breaks in this moment. I can’t stop the tears that fill my eyes.
Biting my lip, I brush the tears away with my fingers. “Because I didn’t want you coming to that place…seeing me like that. But that doesn’t mean that I didn’t think about you every day. The thought of you was the only thing that got me through those eighteen months.”
I reach out a hand to touch him but pull it back, unsure of if he wants me to touch him.
His eyes are on the ground. He exhales a tired-sounding breath. “I have to go,” he says softly, toeing the concrete with his shoe.
“Can I walk you home?”
He shakes his head, eyes still on the ground. “But…you can call me later, if you want?”
My heart soars, and I can’t help the smile that spreads on my face. “I’d love that.”
Jesse lifts his eyes to mine. He brushes his overgrown hair out of them. “Cool. Well, I guess we’ll talk later then.”
“Definitely.”
I watch Jesse walk away with a hope in my heart that I haven’t dared allow myself to feel in a very long time.
Nineteen
Feeling happier than I have in forever, I hum along to the song that’s been stuck in my head all morning—Gnash’s “I Hate You, I Love You.”