Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 41687 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 208(@200wpm)___ 167(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41687 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 208(@200wpm)___ 167(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
When I exited my bedroom, Kit was there with a mug of coffee prepared exactly the way I liked it.
“Take a sip,” he said.
I stared at him as I did what he said. The familiar creamy sweetness was enough to both calm me down and perk me up. “You’re awfully bossy for six thirty in the morning,” I grunted before taking another sip. “Are you coming to LA with me? You know Dad would love it if you spent Christmas with us.”
“Sweetheart, I need you to sit down with me. C’mere.” He guided me to the sofa and sat me down, taking the spot next to me before reaching for my free hand.
I set the mug down, suddenly getting a very bad feeling. It was too early for him to be here. He’d let himself into my place—probably by bribing a doorman—which meant it was serious. And now he was sitting me down, which meant it was very serious.
My hands began to shake, and cold prickles crawled across my skin. “Just tell me.”
“Baby, your dad had a medical emergency last night. They treated him at Cedars-Sinai, but they weren’t able to…” He sucked in a breath. “Robert passed away early this morning.”
I stared at him. “That’s impossible. He… he’s expecting me today for Christmas. He’s having friends for lunch tomorrow.”
Kit’s large hand came up to cup my face. The soft, affectionate touch made my heart lurch. “No,” I snapped, pulling away. “Don’t do that. This isn’t… I don’t need… there’s nothing wrong.”
My voice sounded strange and high-pitched, as if being spoken through a long metal tube. “He’s… I’ll call him.” I shoved myself off the sofa and rushed to my bedroom in search of my phone. It still lay face down on my bedside table from where I’d placed it after turning off my alarm.
When I pulled it up to dial him, I noticed dozens of notifications, including a news bulletin that the Oscar-winning actor Robert Warren had passed away at the age of fifty-three. I clicked on the notification with numb fingers, shocked that any news organization could have this information before his own son did.
Cause of death is unknown at this time. People close to the actor have reported he collapsed at a Hollywood Hills party in the early hours of the morning. More details are emerging as party attendees speak to reporters.
I felt Kit’s strong arms engulf me, but I fought them off in order to crawl onto the bed. “I can’t do this,” I wailed, struggling to breathe. “It can’t be true. What happened? Was it a heart attack? A stroke? He’s in good shape! He goes to the doctor regularly and works out with Eileen.” One of his ex-girlfriends was a personal trainer who made sure he stayed in top form.
All the while I peppered Kit with questions, I tried to hide in a small ball under my comforter, hide away from the cruel world and an uncaring god.
I’m an orphan.
Hot tears came against my will.
Kit crawled into the bed behind me and wrapped himself around me, his shared body heat the only thing keeping me from shivering with sudden cold. “Suspected drug overdose,” he said softly. “We’ll know more later today.”
I made an embarrassing sound. Another betrayal. Another time my fucking father proved himself to be a selfish, unfeeling bastard. “So, it was preventable. Easily preventable. All he had to do was not do fucking drugs. That’s all he had to do.”
He turned me to face him, swiping my cheeks with his thumbs before pulling me into his chest. I noticed he had on the navy cashmere sweater I’d given him last Christmas, the one I’d finally decided on after researching “affordable dupe Dior Cannage” for days.
“Baby.” His voice was filled with pain, and it was only now that I realized he’d lost something too.
“I’m sorry,” I croaked. “You must be so upset.”
He pressed his lips to the top of my head and breathed. “I’m upset for you.”
I snuggled into him as much as I could, seeking the world’s safest place. Images of my father laid out on a gurney while ER personnel worked frantically to save him played on repeat in my head.
“I want to see him,” I said. And part of me wanted to admit that the reason was so that I could be sure he was gone. Be sure they got the right guy. “Maybe I should call him just to be sure?”
It sounded pathetic. And I knew it was.
“I made sure,” he said, rubbing my back in circles. “I promise, it’s true.”
I didn’t want to know how he’d made sure—had he asked for a photo? Suddenly, I lurched up. “We have to go there. I’m going to miss my flight.”
I shoved past him and found my suitcase, just waiting for me to finish packing my toiletries bag. My clothes included a red Christmas button-down and charcoal suit pants. Socks with little elves on them that one of my students had given me and Grinch pajama pants I’d gotten years ago at a teacher gift exchange luncheon.