Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 133682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
Mom lets out a big breath. “What I mean is your whole life you’ve been so afraid of turning out like your father. You fear you’ll be the same, so you work hard to be different,” she says, nailing my daily motivations for, oh, say, all my adult life. “You’ve remade yourself as his opposite in every way. You think if you do that, you can avoid hurting, but you forgot one important detail.”
I take that on the chin because I deserve it. I need it. And because it’s true. But I need to do something about it, so I ask without guile, “What’s that?”
She holds my gaze with warm eyes that know me. “You think you can’t trust love, but really, all you need is to trust yourself and believe you can handle love.” She takes the beat. “I believe in you. You’re not him.”
I let those words soak in. Maybe they’re the words I’ve always needed to hear.
Still, there’s that little problem of what to say to Fable. Fear is the issue there too. That’s what’s held me back. Not the belief that love is a lie, but the fear that love might be true. If it is, someone can hurt me.
“You might be right,” I tell Mom. “But a little while ago she said she thought we should stop dating. And isn’t tonight evidence that I would just make a big mess of it if we continue?”
Bibi tuts. “Wilder, Wilder, Wilder. Love is messy. Deal with it. Now, set an alarm and be ready to tell her when she wakes up that you were a dumbass tonight.”
I sit with her comment for a while, and soon, I’m nodding. “I think you’re both right.”
“We are,” they say in unison.
I thank them and head to the couch with my name on it tonight, strip out of my jeans and shirt, and pull the fleece blanket over me, ready to fix one more thing in the morning.
When I wake with the sun shining on Christmas Eve morning, I fold up the blanket, brush my teeth in the guest bathroom, and change into fresh clothes.
I return to the main living room, ready to check on Fable. But out front, a cab pulls up to the cabin, and a familiar figure steps out onto the snowy sidewalk.
My father.
51
EXTRAORDINARY LOVE
Wilder
Dread crawls up my body. It wraps its cold arms around my throat. I stare at what feels like a mirage, but it’s all too real.
Why is he here?
Whatever the reason, it can’t be good. I stand at the door, holding it open for him, my chest crawling with worry but also something like relief.
He’s alive.
It’s a fear that has never stopped chasing me. But I suppose that’s part of loving an addict—worry is never truly far away. With his head hanging low and an embarrassed hint of a smile shifting his lips, he heads along the snow-covered stone path and up the steps, and stands in front of me.
“Hey, son,” he says brightly. Like I was anticipating his arrival on the day before Christmas. Like he’s the last guest we’ve been waiting for.
“Hi,” I say plainly, unsure where we’re going.
“Merry Christmas,” he says.
“Merry Christmas?”
Dad shifts his duffel from one hand to the other.
“How did you get here?”
“I took a plane. You know, they’re those things that have wings and jet engines?”
But I’m not in the mood for making light. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to wish you a happy holiday,” he says.
That’s a lie. I’m tired of his lies. I’m tired of the chokehold addiction has on him. And I’m exhausted by the chokehold it has on me. I sweep an arm toward the empty cabin, and he goes in.
Once the door is shut, I cut to the chase. “What’s going on with Desert Springs Casino? Are you in trouble? Do you owe them money?”
He winces as he kicks off his boots. “It kind of seems that way,” he says with maybe a tinge of embarrassment, possibly a morsel of regret.
“You were card-counting, Dad. What the hell?”
He meets my gaze with sad eyes. “They say I was card-counting.”
“Were you?” I ask point-blank.
He shrugs. An admission.
I shake my head. “What is going on? Why are you here? You don’t just show up randomly unannounced.”
He sighs, and this one is full of a clear emotion—regret. “I’m in a pinch,” he says, embarrassed, but also borderline begging.
Of course that’s why he’s here. “What happened exactly?”
He waves a hand airily like he can dismiss the specifics. “You know how it goes. But I could make it back in a game. I could hit the tables at the casinos here in the mountains. I know I could.”
My heart sinks, heavy and leaden. That’s the true reason he hightailed it out of town, catching a red-eye. He’s here not only to convince me to pay off his debt but to snag money for a new score.