Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 72325 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72325 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
The best I could give him was a nod. He gave me a small smile in return. Then I let out a sniffle and walked away. As much as I wished I could say more to him, the person I really wanted to speak to was my mother.
She’d lied to me, and she’d lied to him—or at least she never warned him about the dangerous world my biological father inhabited. And she had to have known. She cleaned his house after all. A shiver ran through me. Had she ever washed blood—his or someone else’s—out of his clothes?
Seth had left us, just like she said. But now I knew that he had a reason. He’d done it in order to protect himself. Apparently, he hadn’t cared who would protect us.
I couldn’t stop crying once I was back in the car. Not even Slater’s hand, reassuringly patting my leg, helped.
24
MAGGIE
I rolled over, opened my eyes, and stared at an unfamiliar ceiling.
It didn’t have the usual cracks like the ceiling in my tiny apartment. It wasn’t even the same color.
Then it came back in waves. The kidnapping. The cabin in the woods. That was enough to make my head ache, but then a nagging voice in the back of my mind was telling me that there was more.
Oh god. I’d talked to Seth. I’d found out that my mother had lied to me. About everything. And that my biological father had run off a man who might have potentially stood by our side.
“Maggie?”
Though the low voice was gentle, I bolted up right in bed, clutching the sheets around me. Rocco was sitting in a chair at the foot of the bed, watching me.
I stared at him for a long moment and let my head fall back on the pillow. There was no way I was ready to face all of this.
“More sleep is not going to make all your problems go away.”
Propping my head up on my elbow, I glared at him. “Stop that.”
“Stop what?” He was wearing a light blue t-shirt and black jeans. Both were tight enough to showcase his impressive muscles.
“Reading my mind.”
He chuckled. “I’ll do my best.”
I sighed. “Is it your day to babysit me?” From the light coming in from the blinds, I figured it was morning. I’d slept at least twelve hours since Slater and I got back, but I didn’t feel rested.
“Yep.”
“You could have done that from out there.” I gestured toward the main room of the cabin. “There’s no way for me to escape from here.”
I thought he might laugh again, but he didn’t. “I just figured you maybe needed someone to watch over you,” he said. “If that seems creepy, then—”
“It doesn’t,” I interrupted in a low voice. It actually sounded kind of nice.
“Do you want to talk about yesterday?” It was clear from his question that Slater had filled him in on what happened.
“No.” I sighed. “Yes.”
“Let me know when you decide.”
Stretching out flat on the bed, I stared at the ceiling. “I kind of think maybe I need to—even if I don’t want to.”
“I can understand that.” There was a creak from his chair and then footsteps. His face appeared above me.
Without prior thought, I scooted to the side, patting the bed next to me. Looking surprised, he sat on the edge, but that wasn’t what I wanted.
Shoving a pillow at him, I slid over some more, giving him room. “I can’t talk about it while you’re looking at me.”
He grunted, kicking off his shoes. Then he stretched out next to me, making the whole bed shake. “Never thought you’d invite me into your bed.”
If Slater had said those words, maybe Julian, too, they would’ve been a come-on. But I didn’t get the sense that Rock was in that kind of mood today. He’d had a shock, too. Just like I’d learned some new and disturbing things about my mom, he’d learned some things about Emilio.
“What was he like?” I asked.
“Who?”
“My… your… Emilio. What was he like?”
Rocco sighed. “I’m not sure I know anymore.”
“I feel that way about my mom. But tell me a good time you remember.”
There was silence, and I could practically hear the big man next to me sorting through his thoughts. “He taught me to play football.”
That surprised me. “American football? Or soccer?”
Rock rolled onto his side to watch me, then he caught himself. “Sorry, you said you couldn’t talk if I looked at him.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “Tell me about the football.”
“He liked soccer best—most Italians do. But when he moved here, he got into American football. Went to the games. Learned how to throw the ball. And he taught me.”
“Did you ever play on a team?” With his size, he probably would’ve been good at it.
“No. I’d dropped out of school by that point, but sometimes we’d get a game going in the park. It sounds dumb, but it was the first time anyone had done anything… fatherly with me. I mean, how many movies have a scene where the father plays catch with the son?”