Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 45217 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 226(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45217 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 226(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
“Don’t mention it,” he says stiffly. “But buddy, Crissy has asked that you not come into the house. Stay out here and find your own place when you can, okay? I’m sorry to have to say this.”
“You’re letting a convicted killer stay in your guest room, Tommy. I’m the one who should apologize.”
Tommy steps into the room and lowers his voice, looking at me with the same seriousness he used to aim at me in training. “I know you won’t talk about it, but you can’t bullshit me. You had a good reason if you did what they say you did. A man like you doesn’t just brutally murder someone for the goddamn fun of it.”
His tone is bitter. It’s not the first time he’s hinted at more information about the murder charge.
“Where do I dial for room service?” I say with a smirk.
He laughs gruffly. “How was the meeting earlier with Lucy?”
My stomach swirls. I return to the moment, mentally, when we almost kissed. I leaned over her, my lips so close to hers that she breathed on me. She tasted perfect, even then, before we made contact. She tasted like she belonged to me. I’ll add that to the list of stuff that makes absolutely no sense.
“It must’ve been hard,” Tommy says, looking at me closely as though he’s searching for a gap in my armor. “Talking to the woman whose father you killed. It must’ve been real, real tough, Jamie.”
“It was difficult,” I tell him.
“Wow, that’s specific.” He laughs darkly. “They say you lacerated his face. Say you did it with a rusty knife, at least fifty different lacerations. That’s what I read.”
I grunt, focusing on the bed, extending the legs, and then grabbing the sheets. As silly as it would seem to some people, this small annex, with a tiny kitchen, a tiny bathroom, and a small living area, is a luxury to me.
“Can’t imagine you doing a thing like that. Or, if you did, you must’ve ha—”
“Maybe I’m not the man you think I am,” I snarl, throwing the sheets onto the bed. “Maybe I did it because he looked at me funny. Maybe I’ve been tricking you ever since the day we met. Maybe I’m a sick fuck who used to fantasize about killing someone long before I did it.”
I turn and stand to my full height. I glare at Tommy, my best friend, while my mind replays the moment I almost kissed Lucy over and over. I don’t know what makes me angrier. The fact we almost kissed or that I didn’t finish it. I could’ve kissed her, grabbed those thick beautiful hips, pulled her body close to mine, and…
Tommy lets out a shuddering breath, slowly shaking his head. “What’s gotten into you?”
“You know I hate talking about this crap.”
“This crap. The day you hacked a man to death.”
“Yeah. That.”
Tommy looks at me for a few more moments, then shrugs and walks across the yard, leaving me alone. That mistake is another example of letting out the darkness I should keep inside.
I make the bed, unpack my notebooks, and carefully stow them in a clear plastic storage box. I put them in the corner of the room, out of the sunlight. I’ve transferred one of them to a Word document so far.
Lucy’s comment was shrewd about noticing imperfections as I typed it out. There’s a lot of work to be done. I could really benefit from an editor. I wish I’d asked Lucy more about her editing course. I wish I’d taken more interest and had more time to explore her personality, but it’s done now. It’s over, and it’s for the best.
A little while later, my cell phone rings. It’s Kylie, my baby sister, safe on the West Coast. Nothing bad happened because I met with Lucy. I ignore the pessimistic voice that whispers yet inside of me.
“Hey, sis,” I say, answering.
“Hey, Jamie,” she murmurs, sounding like always.
She loves me. She’ll always love me. I can sense it in her voice, but she also doesn’t understand what I did. She doesn’t understand how the person she values so much, the man always there for her, could brutally take somebody’s life.
“How’s freedom treating you?”
“I’m fine. We don’t have to talk. I know you find it difficult.”
“You’re my big brother. Of course, we’re going to speak. God, Jamie, not everything has to be a problem.”
I say nothing, letting her vent her exasperation.
“Are you going to look for a job?” she asks.
“Yep, first thing tomorrow.”
“Just turn on that classic Jamie charm, and you’ll have a flood of offers.”
“I’m sure you’re right, sis.”
I’m not sure, honestly. When employers see the murder charge, I highly doubt they will be interested in me. It’s not like I can hope to publish the great American novel anytime soon.
“How’s the little man doing?” I ask.