Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 83211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
I pull her into my shoulder and give her a big hug. I think I need it as badly as she does.
Her words bring back memories of me being her age and her mother playing games with me. She’d tell my dad I was told to do something and didn’t do it. That she thought I was sneaking out of the house—and I wasn’t. Always. That my request to paint my bedroom black wasn’t a goth stage, but a satanic ritual that should get me a ticket to therapy.
Therapy is the one nice thing she could’ve done for me. Of course, she didn’t. I never thought for one moment that she’d play the same games with Bethany.
Bethany pulls away and then digs in her backpack for a tissue. Sweet girl.
The loneliness in her eyes is salt on a wound in my soul that has never healed. There’s always something in the back of my brain, even now, that tells me to prepare for having my world thrown upside down. To be ready to have my safety net cut.
To be alone.
“I understand what you’re going through,” I say, plucking the hair stuck to her cheek away. “And, I’ll be honest with you, I don’t have a great solution.”
“Can I stay here with you?”
I sigh. “I’d be fine with that, but this isn’t my house, and your mom needs to know where you are.”
“She’ll kill me, Sara. I skipped school today. I know they robo-called her to tell her I was absent because they always do when you miss a day. But I just can’t see her. She’ll be madder than she was this morning, and I just needed some space.” She dries her eyes, then drops her hands. “How hard is it to give someone space?”
I grin. She’s not as different from me as she might think.
“Look, I can’t say she won’t be mad,” I say gently. “But I know your mom loves you more than the universe. When she calms down, I’m sure you can have a rational conversation …”
A bright-blue sedan speeds up the road, coming to a stop at the end of Banks’s driveway. Bethany jumps to her feet, a hand clutching my arm.
I stand too. “It’s okay.”
Sabrina and a man I’ve never seen before, Gary, I presume, get out of the car. He stays next to the door while Sabrina marches across the lawn.
“Where have you been, young lady?” Sabrina shouts, stopping at the base of the steps. “Answer me. Have you been here all day?”
Bethany swallows hard. “No. I was at the park. I just got here.”
“I was starting to think you were dead. Your phone was off and your location tracker wasn’t able to work, and I’ve been scared to death.”
I bet Bethany turned her phone on to find Banks’s address.
“Get in the car,” Sabrina says, the words crisp enough to cut you. “Now.”
“Sabrina, wait—”
“I’ll get to you in a minute.” Her eyes flare. “Bethany, now. I’m not telling you again.”
Bethany picks up her backpack and gives me a long hug that only seems to piss her mother off more.
“It’s going to be okay, sweetheart. I’ll do what I can,” I whisper.
“I love you, Sara.”
Tears pool in my eyes, and I give her another squeeze. “I love you too, Bethany.”
“Now, Bethany,” Sabrina barks.
She pulls away from me, slings her backpack on her shoulder, and lifts her chin in defiance. That’s my girl. Don’t let her break you.
Sabrina follows her toward the car, saying something too quietly for me to pick up.
I descend the steps and step into the sun. Out of my peripheral vision, I spot Jess still standing in the spot we left him.
Great.
Bethany climbs in the car and slams the door. Sabrina whips around and storms back to the house with her finger pointed at my face.
My stomach tenses as I prepare for an onslaught.
“How dare you talk to my daughter about anything!” she says, almost spitting the words as she stops feet in front of me. Her finger shakes with anger, and her words get louder. “You don’t have a clue what you’re doing. Hell, Sara, you’re a child of the streets.”
What? I grin at her, trying to stay calm. Bethany doesn’t need to see a screaming match between us. “And whose fault is that?”
“Certainly not mine, if that’s what you’re getting at.” She drops her finger. “Your father had given up on you well before he met me.”
“I was ten years old. So you know …”
We stand toe-to-toe, eye to eye. I want to run inside and away from this mess, but I can’t back down to her. I won’t. I’ve done it too many times.
Foxx’s truck inches down the street. He rolls the window down. He doesn’t have to say a word; I can read his question on his face. Are you okay?