Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Sammy gets up. “I’m leaving,” he says, looking at Bobby, who nods. I walk over to the bar and toss down my credit card to cover my tab and the drinks for the guys before walking past her and out the door into the warm air. I wait on the sidewalk as I watch Sammy going to Lilah and saying bye to her. She stops dancing for a second to smile at him before she waves to the guys. I look up at the black sky as I wait for them, not wanting to look back at her.
The drive back to my house is quiet. The windows are open as the warm air runs through the cab. I hold my hand up to the guys. “Thanks,” I say before I walk into the house and kick off my boots. I walk to the kitchen and take the bottle of whiskey Brady gave me last month, the new apple blend. I take two gulps, putting it back before placing my phone on the bedside table and collapsing on my bed. Looking up at the white ceiling, the pressure in the middle of my chest feels like someone is sitting on me. My eyes slowly close, too heavy to open them. The image of Lilah smiling at me is the last thing I see before I’m sucked under.
My phone ringing interrupts my dream as I open my eyes and look over at the bedside table where the sound is coming from. My eyes blink a couple of times before I roll over and snatch it. “Hello,” I answer, closing my eyes shut tight for a second before I force them back open.
“I’m sorry, is this Mr. Clarkson?” the strange voice asks. I look over and see it’s almost two o’clock in the morning. Who the fuck is calling me at two o’clock in the morning?
“Who is this?” I ask, sitting up in the middle of the bed.
“I’m sorry to be disturbing you,” he says. “My name is Mr. Graham, and I’m calling from Barrowhaven.” I listen to the words. “Is this Mr. Clarkson?”
“This is.” I clear my throat. “I’m not sure why you are calling me, though.”
“I’m calling you because… There is no easy way to say this. I’m calling on behalf of a Ms. Paige Drowery.” The name makes the hair on the back of my neck stand. The last time I saw Paige was close to nine years ago. She came to Montgavin and worked at the diner. We hooked up a couple of times, and when she pushed for a relationship and I laid it out for her, she left town.
“Okay, I haven’t seen her in over nine years.”
“Yes,” he continues, “I’m sorry to be the one to inform you of this, but Paige has passed away.” I close my eyes.
“Fuck. I’m sorry.” I pinch my nose.
“I’m sure you are wondering why I’m calling to tell you this,” he says before I ask him. “I’m Paige’s lawyer, and she made some arrangements a couple of months ago.” I wait for him to tell me what this has to do with me. “Paige gave birth to a daughter a little over eight years ago. She listed you as the father.” My shoulders lock into place, and the floor feels like it’s ripped out from under me. “I know this may come as a shock to you. She said it would.”
“I’m sorry.” My mouth goes dry. “What did you say?”
“You have a daughter.” He confirms what I heard before, but nothing could make my blood run cold like the next words out of his mouth. “And right now, she’s being held in foster care.”
Chapter Four
EMMETT
“I need your address.” I get up on my feet. “Once I have your address, I can give you an ETA of when I’m going to be there.”
“I just texted you the address,” he replies, and I look down at the text message and put it in my Maps. My hands shake as I put the address in and wait for it to sync. It takes maybe ten seconds, but every single second feels like an eternity.
“It says it’s a seven-hour drive,” I tell him. “I should be there in about seven and a half hours.” I turn and rush to my closet. “How long has she been in foster care?”
“Since early afternoon,” he says softly. “She’s with a good family.”
“I’ll be at your office in seven hours.” I disconnect, look at the time, and wonder what the fuck to do, but I know I have to call him. I pull up his number as I rush around my closet, grabbing a bag.
He answers after three rings, “Yeah?” His voice is filled with sleep.
“Charlie.” The way I say his name is with sheer panic in my voice. “Something happened.”