Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 137077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 685(@200wpm)___ 548(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 685(@200wpm)___ 548(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
I thought the table was silent. I was wrong. This is silence. Pure, complete absence of sound.
I glance around nervously, stammering out, “Yeah, probably because I’m making him do silly things like fashion shows and pumpkin carving.” The argument falls flat, no one believing me, which isn’t a surprise since I don’t even believe me.
Cameron does smile more than he did when I first arrived. But his happiness doesn’t mean he loves me. He wants me, and I do think he likes me, but love is a depth of emotion I’m not sure he’s even capable of anymore, outside of his love for his daughter.
“Cameron is fucked-up,” Kayla says bluntly, drawing everyone’s attention as she taps her temple. “But sometimes, it takes one fucked-up person to understand another.” She turns her finger toward me, making it clear that I’m the ‘another’ in that scenario. I should be offended, but she’s spot-on, so there’s no use in denying it. She also somehow manages to make it sound insulting about Cameron and complimentary toward me, though I’m not sure how she does it. “They can sense the trauma responses and deal with the damage better. I think a jagged saw” —she deliberately looks me up and down before pinning me with a hard look— “might sometimes be even better than a scalpel to get to the good heart beneath the scarring. It takes longer, it’s messier, and it hurts more, but in the long run, it breaks up the scar tissue better.”
Shocked to my core, I stare at Kayla. I’m not sure why she thinks I’m equipped to handle Cameron’s trauma when she doesn’t even know me. But maybe she does…
What has Cameron told her?
I left behind schoolgirl gossip a long time ago, but I desperately want to ask outright what he’s said about me, hoping and wishing it’d give me some insight into the hot- and cold-running man.
“That is… graphic… and gross,” Samantha says, her nose crinkled in disgust. “Yet therapeutically accurate as hell. I approve.” She nods like her approval is valuable, and given she’s apparently an actual therapist, I guess it is. Everyone at the table treats it as such, somehow also giving weight to Kayla’s assessment.
“Dad isn’t fu—” Grace starts to say, but quickly corrects her repeat of Kayla’s words, “fudged up. Neither is Riley. And you’re being mean.” The hostile glare she’s shooting at her favorite aunt could ignite a bonfire.
The fact that her anger is on my behalf, and that she’s willing to defend my honor against her beloved family, makes my heart clench in my chest. God, I love this little girl.
“Grace,” I say, drawing her attention to me. She cuts her eyes to me, giving Kayla the smallest reprieve, and I can feel everyone else’s attention settle on me too. They want to hear how I’m going to address this, like it’s a live-action, front-row seat demonstration of my abilities. Thankfully, if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s understanding the nuances of people’s intentions and I definitely think Kayla’s are good. “Thank you for having my back. That’s a perfect example of being a girl’s girl.”
Her shoulders tighten down and back like she’s ready to go to battle for me. She nods once like she’s got me, no matter what. I can’t contain the smile that spreads across my face because I’m so proud of how far she’s come in such a short period of time.
“I know it sounds like Kayla said a mean thing… about me, and about your dad too. But, in a way, she was giving me a compliment.” Grace’s brows shoot together in confusion, and I sigh. This is a tricky explanation, and getting it into terms that she’ll understand is difficult, but necessary. “Sometimes, the best, most important things take hard work, and Kayla was telling me that she thinks I can handle the hard stuff. And that Cameron can too.”
“So she means…” Grace starts, tilting her head as she still tries to piece it together, “that you’re tough?”
“I am,” I say, nodding. “And so is your dad. And so are you.” I boop the tip of her nose with my newly blue nail, and she smiles tentatively. “We’ve all been through things that would break some people, but we’re still here, making the best out of every day, and that takes strength and courage. It’s a toughness I wish you didn’t have—wish I didn’t have too—but we do, so it’s what we make of it that matters most.”
“Okay,” she says slowly. Her eyes drop to her hands, where she’s picking at her perfect manicure, and I lay my hand over hers, stilling the anxious movement with a supportive squeeze. She swallows thickly and then looks back up at me. I give her an encouraging smile, and she turns her eyes back to her aunt. “Sorry for calling you mean, Aunt K.”