Total pages in book: 180
Estimated words: 176012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 880(@200wpm)___ 704(@250wpm)___ 587(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 176012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 880(@200wpm)___ 704(@250wpm)___ 587(@300wpm)
“Why…” I swallow, wetting my parched throat. “Why did it seem like they knew you?”
They obeyed him as soon as they saw the ink.
But he ignores my question. “You’re not old enough to live on your own.” He digs in his eyebrows. “Did you think any of this was going to fly?”
“You’re not my father!”
He rakes a hand through his hair, fucking losing his mind. “A condemned house in a decrepit neighborhood,” he rambles, “living right next door to a career criminal with any one of a dozen little shits coming and going from his house who would love to slip something in your drink!” He gets in my face. “You failed to mention that! Or was it deliberate?”
My ears sting at his blaring voice, and my heart races, but I don’t shout again. I can’t tell what’s radiating off from him—energy, warmth, passion—but I want him to keep going. This is the first time since he’s been home that it feels like he’s close to being honest.
He goes on, under his breath, “Serving minors, and who knows how many of them had drugs on them.” Then, he turns back to me. “And what the fuck were you doing upstairs with Noah Van der Berg?”
“You noticed all that just walking in the door?” I ask in a calm voice, standing in front of him. “Did you know I was having a party? Is that why you’re here?”
Come on. Admit you’re spying on me with security cameras you also failed to mention.
He just shakes his head and charges to the coffee table, grabbing the notebook. He flips it open to where it was when he was here last night, my writing visible in blue ink as he squeezes the folded book in his fist.
The list of birthday presents I really wanted the past few years. I dart my eyes to his.
“Yeah, I know what’s on your mind.” His barely contained growl scares me more than his shouting a moment ago. “You’re not capable of making a responsible decision.” He throws the notebook onto the entryway table next to us. “Your hormones are all over the place, and you’re coming home.”
Why? Because I’m normal? Because I want to feel things? Because I have physical desires, the same as almost everyone? It doesn’t make sense. Nothing he’s doing or saying is making sense.
But to my surprise, I don’t argue back. The sweat on his neck. The heat on his cheeks. His eyes piercing me like bullets.
I’m driving him crazy.
I extend my hand and slide it around his waist, to his back. “May I see it?”
My voice is barely above a whisper as his eyes hold mine. His body is frozen, but I catch the falter in his gaze. And I seize it, softly circling him and letting my eyes fall down the length of his back and the same tattoo I saw all those years ago.
Pressing my fingers to his skin, I feel him tense as I trace the black branches with my thumb. They wind from above his shoulder blade, down the right side of his back, and over his ribs, disappearing below the waist of his jeans.
I hesitate, something familiar about the lines. Something off about the shoots coming out of the branch.
“It’s…”
It’s not a branch.
“It’s the river,” I murmur. “The river between Shelburne Falls and Weston.”
And I’m the only one in Weston who doesn’t know that this tattoo means something. They were more scared of it than anyone in the Falls is scared when they see the Green Street tattoo.
I step back around, stopping in front of him. “You can’t keep me to yourself forever.” I reach over to the table and start to pull my notebook back. “Someday—”
But he slams his hand down on mine, and I force out my finger, dragging it down the list as he tries to take the notebook away.
“—someone is going to give me all the birthday presents I really want,” I say in a low voice.
I look over, seeing my finger pointing to number five. Panties ripped off.
Looking him dead in the eye, I unfasten my black shorts. My chest aches, because I expect him to stop me, but I’m too quick for him.
Or he’s that paralyzed that he doesn’t know what’s happening.
I drop my shorts to the floor and stand there in my underwear and little, white blouse that only falls just below my belly button.
His hard gaze doesn’t leave mine, and I don’t shrink, even though I know he’s going to shout. Or he’s going to grab me, throw me in my room, and lock me there until I behave.
I barely notice the lights go out or hear the commotion outside as the neighborhood blacks out.
I smirk, shaking my head as I back away. “You can leave.”
He has no place in my life anymore.