Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 79583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
“Yeah, I’m meeting him for coffee at eleven tomorrow morning.”
“Good.” He smiles softly at me then goes back to making me a sandwich.
I walk into the living room. The furniture isn’t as nice as in his bedroom, but it’s still nice and really great quality. A black leather sectional with deep, wide cushions is situated in front of a black low-profile coffee table, where a beer bottle and remote are sitting. On the wall is the biggest TV I have ever seen in my life. Just like the bedroom, there is no art on the walls, but there are a few pictures in nice frames on an entertainment stand under the TV. I set Dizzy down on the couch then walk across the room to get a closer look at the photos.
I pick the biggest one up, and my heart clenches the same way it did earlier. Without asking, I know the man and woman in the photo are his parents. His dad looks so much like him that it’s almost startling, with the same dark hair, beautiful dark eyes, same smile, and build. Wearing a plaid button-down and jeans, his arm is thrown around a tallish woman with dark hair. The sun above them shines down, highlighting the deep red undertones in her hair. Her face is turned up in profile, smiling at her husband, her hand resting on his stomach. Her body is tucked close to his side. Seeing them, my eyes start to burn and my breath goes funny.
“My mom and dad,” Harlen says, and I feel a tear slide down my cheek, watching it land on the photo, and I quickly swipe the drop away. “Christ, baby.” His voice is gruff as he gathers me against his big frame, and a sob rips up the back of my throat. He takes the photo from me, sets it down, and then picks me up, carrying me to the couch and settling me sideways in his lap. “Please don’t cry.”
“They look so happy,” I whisper, trying to get myself under control.
“They were happy. I never saw them argue. Mom used to bicker, but Dad thought that shit was cute. He used to laugh about it, which would make her laugh.”
“What happened to them?” I ask, lifting my head to look at him, and his body gets tight under me. Feeling that, I tuck my face against his neck. “Never mind. Forget I asked.” I wrap my arms around his middle, ignoring the disappointment I feel while listening to him pull in a deep breath.
“It was right before Christmas,” he begins, and my muscles bunch. “I was out with friends. My parents never locked the door. A guy walked right into the house while Mom and Dad were upstairs. The guy was in the middle of cleaning out the gifts from under the tree, when my dad confronted him. All Dad had was a baseball bat. Didn’t know the guy was armed. He shot Dad twice in the chest. Mom was hiding, but when she heard the shots, she came out, and since he didn’t want to leave a witness, he killed her too.
“God,” I breathe, closing my eyes as the pain for him wraps around my heart and lungs, making it hard to breathe. “I’m so, so sorry,” I choke out, knowing that isn’t even an adequate word. Him losing his parents was bad enough. Him losing them the way he did, is tragic. “Please tell me they caught the guy.”
“They caught him. He tried to pawn the necklace Dad got Mom for Christmas. I was with him when he bought it, so I knew it was missing and put a description in the report. Cops were able to track and catch him, since he used his ID with the pawn shop.”
“Good,” I whisper, tucking my face into his neck when I realize his history is exactly why he flipped out about my door not being locked the first time he came over to my house. “You were still a kid when you lost them,” I say after a moment, and he pulls my face out of his neck and runs his thumbs under my eyes, swiping away the wetness there.
“I was a kid, but lucky for me, my mom’s sister, Patricia, lived in the same town, so I went to live with her. She wasn’t a replacement for my parents, but we were close, and losing them brought us closer. We’re still tight; she comes to visit often. That’s why I had to get this place. She wasn’t cool with sleeping at the compound.”
“I bet not.” I scrunch up my face, and he smiles then shakes his head.
“She knows about you,” he tells me quietly, and my heart squeezes.
“What?” I whisper.
He slides his fingers across my cheek and up into my hair. “Like I said, we’re close. She knows about you, has known about you for a while now.”