Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 105709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
He steps back, his hands dropping to his sides. “That's a low blow.”
“Maybe.” I push off the wall, needing distance. “But it's true. I'm not asking for forever. I'm asking for time.”
“How much time?”
“I don't know.” And that's the truth. “The wedding's coming up. You can take her for the weekends, for holidays —whatever you want we can figure out. But the rest of the time, she needs to be with me. In a home that's ours.”
“She has a home here.” His features shift, hardening.
“She has a safe house here.” I correct him gently. “There's a difference.”
He turns away, scrubbing a hand over his face. When he speaks again, his voice is rough. “You're making a mistake.”
“Maybe. But it's mine to make.”
“Melissa.” He catches my wrist, pulling me back one last time. His forehead presses against mine, and I can feel the war raging inside him. “Don't do this.”
“I have to.” Tears leak down my cheek. “Please, Hella. Let me do this.”
His release is slow, like it physically hurts, and in every which way it does. “Fine. But when this blows up in your face—and it will—don't come crying to me.”
“I won't.”
I leave him standing in the garage, surrounded by tools and motorcycle parts and the ghost of what we might have been. And with every step toward the house, toward Olive's room where I'll pack our things, I tell myself I'm doing the right thing.
Even if it feels like I'm tearing my own heart out.
Thirty-Three
Melissa
Dawn breaks through the clouds up above, and since Hella and I had the conversation last night, I’ve recited the reasons why I’m doing this like a damn prayer.
Stability.
Foundation.
Home.
Routine.
Structure.
Olive buries her face in Hella's chest, her muffled pleads a knife to my heart.
“Hey, Rugrat.” Hella crouches down to her level, his voice gentle. “You're gonna come back and visit, remember? And I'll call you every night before bed.”
“Promise?” she sniffs, wiping her nose on his cut.
“Promise.” He kisses the top of her head, then slowly lifts his eyes to mine where they darken.
Beast nods from where he's loading our bags into his truck. Yana hasn’t said much since she found out this morning, but she’s smart enough to not start running her mouth during times that are already tense.
Hella pulls back, but Olive clings tighter. “I don't want to go. Please don't make me go.”
“It's okay, sweetheart.” I kneel beside them, my hand on her back. “This isn't goodbye. It's... see you later.”
“But I like it here.” She finally looks at me, her green eyes bathing in unshed tears. “I like Hella. And Jada. And Garret. And—”
“I know.” My voice breaks. “But we have to go home now. Back to our house, where you'll still have your own room and we can bake together every day. Doesn't that sound nice?”
She shakes her head, and in the corner of my eye I can see Hella's jaw tighten.
“Tell you what.” He reaches behind his neck, unclasping the white-gold chain that’s always hanging from his chest. “You keep this. It was a gift from my grandpa when I was around your age. He gave it to me before he died and told me that when life got hard, I was to hold this as a reminder of my resilience. You see, this chain has been passed through our family since forever, and forever is how long I’ll be here for you, Rugrat.”
A whimper threatens to escape, and my hand flies up to my mouth to stop it.
She takes it carefully, clutching it to her chest. “Okay.”
“That's my girl.” He stands, ruffling her hair one last time. Then he looks at me, and the mask is back in place. Cold. Distant. “Wedding's in three weeks. She can stay with me for the school holidays from then.”
“Okay,” I whisper, barely recovered from what just passed between them.
Beast helps Olive into the truck, distracting her with promises of stopping for ice cream, and Yana hugs me briefly, whispering, “Call me when you're ready to talk about this clusterfuck.”
Then it's me and Hella, standing in the early morning light, the space between us vast and unbridgeable.
“For what it's worth—” I start, but he cuts me off.
“Don't.” He steps back, crossing his arms. “Go, Melissa. Before I change my mind about letting you.”
So I do.
I climb into the truck and don't look back, even though every instinct screams at me to run back to him. To apologize. To beg him to make this work somehow.
But I don't.
Because I'm Melissa Hart, and I've survived worse than this.
Haven't I?
As we pull away from the compound, with Olive pressed against my side, crying into my shirt, I catch one last glimpse of Hella in the side mirror. He's standing exactly where I left him, hands buried in his pockets.
And for the first time ever, I let myself wonder if I'd made the biggest mistake of my life.