Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 128812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 644(@200wpm)___ 515(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 644(@200wpm)___ 515(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
"It's okay. Neither of them is happy with the work I chose, and I've always thought they didn't care enough about what happened to Dakota," he answers. "I know they're sad she's gone. It's not something they'd ever wish on any parent, the loss of a child, but they also fight that voice that tells them that addicts are a lost cause the second they use drugs the first time."
"Lots of folks with lots of uneducated opinions. I don't know that I wouldn't hate them if I were you," I say.
He keeps his eyes out the window, and I don't know if he's taking a trip down memory lane as we drive out of our childhood neighborhood, or if what I said upsets him more than I intended it to. I don't want to hurt him at all, but he said he always wants honesty.
I frown, knowing that honesty and saying everything that pops in my head without a filter isn't the same thing at all.
It's going to take some fucking time before I can get this relationship shit right, it seems.
"I'm disappointed in them. I think the only thing that makes me feel better about all of it is that they never rejected her. Granted, she never showed up asking for help either. It all went sideways so fucking fast. They hired her an attorney instead of just letting her rot in jail, so I guess that's something. She was just gone before they really had to put any personal energy into her recovery."
"You think they'd just wash their hands of her if she got out and struggled?"
I look over in time to see him shrug. "I don't know. I think everyone has their limit, but I don't know if the tough love would've started immediately or if repeat relapses would be what it took. I hate that we never got a chance to find out."
"I hate it, too. I hate that I wasn't there for you," I add.
"Honestly, I don't know if you would've wanted to be around me back then," he says, his voice low and full of more pain than he showed with the beating he took. "I was so angry. There's a very real chance I would've said some stuff even a distant friendship couldn't survive."
"If it's your truth and how you feel, then I want to hear it," I assure him.
I look at him as I slow the truck at a red light.
He's slow to look in my direction, but eventually he locks eyes with me.
He gives his head a slight shake.
"I will," he says. "Eventually, but for my own sanity, I need some time. I need to know that we're strong enough to go back and relive some of that shit."
"I understand," I tell him. "Hopefully I can prove to you that I'm in this for the long haul."
"You have nothing to prove. Just be present with me. It's all I need right now."
"I'm here," I promise. "Always."
He gives me a quick smile, then reaches out and takes my hand when I offer it.
I think for the first time in my life, my head is silent, and I can just live in the moment without a million things piling up and weighing me down. I know I can't feel like that forever. There will be times when we don't see eye to eye, but I can have faith that things will work out and our relationship will survive.
Ten minutes later, I'm debating whether to go into the store and check on him. I don't know how long it takes to buy a couple of things, but it feels like he's been in there forever. My fingers tap out a rhythm on the steering wheel, a hint of remorse for sending him alone starting to churn in my gut.
Just as I'm reaching for the door handle, he steps out into the sun, holding the bag up like he just won a prize.
"I was about to go in and look for you," I tell him as he climbs into the passenger seat.
"New cashier," he replies. "Poor girl won't last long if she can't figure it out."
I back out of the parking lot, my nerves trying to get the best of me as we get closer to the hotel.
"Casper told me that we have open-ended return flights," he says as I turn into the parking lot of the airport hotel."
"Tomorrow," I tell him. "I don't want to be here any longer than I have to."
If he weren't here right now, I'd be at the ticket counter trying to fly out this evening.
"You can leave so soon?" he asks.
"I can take care of everything via email and phone calls."
"You know Mom has friends who work in antiques. I bet she has a contact that can take over the sale of everything in the house and get top dollar for it."