Total pages in book: 179
Estimated words: 170878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 170878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
My body was tense, prepped for battle, to defend myself, and protect against attacks. But Marty’s entire outward energy was calm. Caring.
I let myself relax a little.
“Sit.” He gestured to a chair. “Tea, coffee, shot of tequila?”
There was a twinkle to his smile, and I returned it, though mine might’ve been a little wonky.
“I’ll just take the divorce for now,” I replied sheepishly.
He chuckled. “That, we can do. Walk me through everything, and I’ll make this bastard wish he was never born.”
Although my past, especially my past with Waylon, was something I promised myself I’d never divulge to someone I knew, let alone a stranger—albeit someone with a law degree—I found myself telling him the entire story.
And I found myself feeling something else I hadn’t in a while.
Hope.
BEAU
Hannah had woken up two beasts inside of me.
One that longed for violence, revenge, to claim her brutally, own every inch of her skin, and make it mine.
The other, a softer, more vulnerable creature, who wanted to take care of her. Wanted to ensure that she never had marks on her skin again. Wanted to make her laugh. Give her a home. A family.
Both of those beasts had been sated today. Though the former did not get the blood he desired. However, gaining a form of justice helped, ensuring that Hannah was well on her way to severing the tie she had to that piece of shit.
Again, like at the police station, I was made to sit outside the room. Because it was inappropriate for me to be present for those conversations. Because I was only her employer. Nothing more than the man who paid her. She was so much more to me, but I would never have the right to know what was going on in her life, for her to be mine.
After those visits were done, we arrived at my father’s house. He greeted her warmly with a hug, then Clara crawled into her lap as she told her about her day. We went and got pizza, laughing in a booth together, Clara beaming over the newfound freedom of just going to a restaurant.
It felt right, like we were a family.
Like this was meant to be. What I’d been waiting for. What I had always wanted.
Except it wasn’t forever. Hannah had a whole life ahead of her. She was still technically fucking married to a man who had tried to ruin her life.
The last thing she needed was a man like me, a man fucking older than her, trying to chain her down again. Never mind it was against the fucking line to make a move on her. I was the man who signed her checks, I was older, the power imbalance was glaring, and she was still vulnerable.
No.
We were not a family.
Hannah would never be mine.
But something had to give, something had to change for me to know that. To make sure that option was something I could never cash in on.
I had to do the one thing I promised myself I’d never do again.
I had to hurt Hannah.
For her own good.
eighteen
BEAU
The holidays rushed by in a haze of food, presents, and more people than I’d been around in my life. And more importantly, more people than Clara had ever been around in her short life.
I feared I’d have cracks in my teeth from the way I’d clenched my jaw, watching her at various family gatherings, in the middle of fucking Times Square.
Her doctor was not annoyed with me, though she should’ve been. I’d called her, emailed her, demanding more blood tests than Clara needed to ensure that her trip to one of the most populated cities in the country was safe.
She’d humored me, assured me that though it was earlier than was conventionally expected for Clara to be out, if we took some precautions, she’d be fine.
It was hard for me, very fucking hard, to let it happen. To let go of the fear that Clara was one sniffle away from a coffin.
Fuck, that call I got from Elliot, telling me Clara had an elevated temperature, took a year off my life. Filled me with guilt and regret at leaving her. For exposing her to too much of the world too soon. Even though she never got sick, even though her doctor reassured me that it was good for her to be building immunity, I couldn’t relax.
Realistically, I knew Clara would eventually get a cold or a flu or a stomach virus. All kids did. I’d have to deal. I’d have to grit my teeth and trust that she’d recover. That she was strong enough. That I wouldn’t have to bury my whole fucking world.
It was logical to hope, but my heart wouldn’t let me embrace it. The heart that was damaged, scarred, and belonged to two women.
My daughter and her nanny.