Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Tears spring to my eyes. I blink furiously to battle them back. It doesn’t work, and they slip down my cheeks.
“Listen,” Nelson says dismissively. “I’ve got to go. But I’ll make sure to tell Hope when she comes home tomorrow that you don’t want her to go on any trips with friends in the future. I’m sure she’ll love you for that.”
“Don’t you dare,” I hiss, but all I can hear is dead air.
The asshole hung up on me.
“Goddamn motherfucker,” I scream as I turn and slap my hand against the hood of my car. The shock reverberates through me, causing my bones to ache.
The anger starting to swiftly turn to depression, I make my way around to the driver’s side and throw myself into the front seat. Just as I start my car, a text chimes through. I have an insane thought that perhaps Nelson has had an attack of conscience and is reaching out to make things better.
When I look down at my phone, I’m hit with another punch of despair to my gut.
It’s not from Nelson, but from Toby, my brother.
There’s a Fender guitar at a pawn shop that’s an incredible deal. Can you loan me $200?
A maniacal laugh comes unbidden, and I think I might be cracking up under all this stress.
From the weight of all the things pulling at me.
No, I write back.
It’s a short, curt response from me, and he quickly responds. No worries. Thanks anyway.
He even puts a kissing face emoji.
I had a hand in raising Toby and Frank because my mom worked herself to the bone to be able to afford rent, utilities, and food. She waited tables at a honky-tonk bar in rural South Carolina where the pay was horrible and the tips even worse. I admire the hell out of her for it.
I toss my phone back in my purse, then head back across town to my house where I suppose I’ll spend a lonely day laying on my couch watching sad movies.
I’m strangely blank as I make the fifteen-minute drive, refusing to let my mind obsess over my shitty situation. If I had to put a name to the numbness starting to creep through me, I might even label it as “giving up”.
“It’s okay,” I tell myself gently. “You can give up this hard fight. No one would think badly if you did. It’s not winnable anyway.”
Maybe I should give up. Move away. Hope might be better off without such a mother in her life. What could I possibly give her? What lessons could I even teach her when I can’t even support her or myself?
I come from a family that has always slogged through hard times. Perhaps I should move back to South Carolina to live with my mom. There’s no shortage of bartending jobs there.
I’m beyond mired in depression by the time I pull up to the curb bordering the small, dusty front yard that is my abode. It’s in a terrible section of town, but the rent is affordable, which is all that matters.
I dejectedly haul myself out of my car, so lost in my own misery I don’t hear the vehicle pull up behind me.
It’s not until someone says, “Excuse me… are you Hannah Madigan?” that I snap out of it and turn that way.
My stomach cramps as I see an overweight man heading toward me from the tow truck that just pulled up to the curb. He’s carrying a clipboard. Even though I don’t acknowledge his question, he goes on to say, “I’m here to take your vehicle.”
Just fucking great.
I snatch my purse out of the car, then set it on the hood. Without a word to the man, I get in the backseat, unlatch Hope’s car seat, and yank it free. After I set it on the ground, I close the door with a bump of my hip before angrily removing the car key from the key ring. When it’s free, I toss it at the repo man. It’s an unexpected move, and he drops his clipboard as he tries to catch it.
I don’t look back at him, though. Instead, I grab my purse and the car seat, then move across my yard to my house.
Yes, it would be so easy right now to just give up on everything.
Instead, as soon as I step over the threshold and close the front door behind me, I call Asher.
He answers, not with smug anticipation but rather a guarded question. “Have you changed your mind?”
“I have,” I respond smoothly and with a confidence that shocks me since I was contemplating throwing in the towel just moments ago. “I accept your offer on the condition that I have weekends off.”
“That wasn’t part of the deal, Hannah. I want you at my beck and call, and that means whenever my fancy strikes me.”