Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25067 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 84(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25067 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 84(@300wpm)
I know you’ve got a lot on your plate. I could use a break from here for a couple of days. I’m bringing Wyatt to you.
And that would be that. I’d get the guest bedroom set up for her so she never had to find a hotel, and we usually did dinner here at least once while Trinity was in town so the entire family could see her.
She and I may have never truly been together before now, but this family—my found family—loved her just the same.
Trinity may not have her sister here, but she had my family. And maybe one day, Carla and her husband would move out here, too. And if they moved out here, maybe it would convince Trinity to stay with me. Once she started therapy and began healing, I feared she’d leave again. And while it would gut me—fucking eviscerate me—I’d never stop her. I’d never attempt to hold her back.
I was a small-town guy who wanted nothing else from the world than what I had right here. And I couldn’t fault her if my small-town life wasn’t enough for her. It wasn’t enough for a lot of people. Sometimes, people needed more.
I slowed to a crawl before stopping by Byron’s Mustang. The man himself was leaning on the hood, watching his and Dylan’s kids run around and play while he smoked a cigarette. He turned to look at us when I pushed open the door to my truck and hopped out.
“Miranda is so damn excited, she can barely contain herself,” Byron informed me.
I snorted. “That’s nothing new.” Rounding the truck, I huffed when I saw Trinity had already gotten out and was shutting her door. “You’re supposed to wait for me to open—”
“Trinity!” Miranda exclaimed, her screen door slamming open with so much force, I was surprised it didn’t just fall from the hinges. Trinity whirled around to face her in alarm, but immediately, the tension bled from her body, and she smiled at Miranda. “Oh, honey, it’s so damn good to see you!”
The moment Trinity was in her arms, I heard Trinity sniffle, her face burrowing in Miranda’s neck. My heart clenched as I worked on getting Wyatt out of his booster seat and onto his feet on the ground. Miranda patted Trinity’s back and gently rocked her side to side. “Oh, honey. It’s okay. Whatever brought you to town, we’ll work through it, you hear me?”
“Go play, bud,” I quietly told Wyatt, gently nudging him in the direction of the other kids.
Wyatt rushed off, leaving the three of us standing there as Trinity continued to quietly cry. Miranda lifted Trinity’s head from her shoulder as soon as Wyatt was out of sight and brushed at the tears on Trinity’s cheeks. “I need both of you to tell me what’s going on,” she said, looking between the two of us.
I pressed my hand to Trinity’s lower back. “Can we take this inside? Maybe Kaylyn can watch the kids for a few minutes while we talk about this. This is a family sit-down kind of situation.”
Miranda frowned, then nodded. “You two go on inside. Byron and I will round up the kids and give them the rules.” She released Trinity. “Jimmie, get everyone to the kitchen table.”
With that, she turned on her heel, rounding the hood of my truck to go over to Byron. Trinity turned to look at me and swiped the sleeve of her long-sleeve shirt under her nose. “I’m sorry. I didn’t expect to become such a mess the moment she hugged me.”
I drew her into my arms and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Miranda has that effect on people.” I knew first-hand. How many times had I come here, pissed off at my father, and she would just sit down on the couch with me in the middle of the night and get me to talk it out? A mere two minutes in her gentle presence, and I was nothing more than a hurting boy with a father who only saw me for what I could bring to him money-wise and not as his son.
“Let’s go inside,” Trinity said quietly. Grabbing my hand in hers, she linked our fingers together and led me toward the porch. “Do you think she made cookies? I could use cookies.”
I chuckled and squeezed her fingers. “I’m sure she made cookies, baby.”
Trinity took a bite of a chocolate chip cookie as Miranda and Byron took their seats at the table. Dylan’s dad, George, had taken one look at Trinity and made her a whole plate of them, giving her a glass of sweet tea to go with it.
“The kids okay?” I asked.
“Kids are fine,” Byron answered. He draped his arm over the back of Winter’s chair, his fingers idly playing with the ends of her hair.