Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 59947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
“I don’t want to keep looking. I found my tree.”
His eyes narrow. “And you’re telling me that tree fits into your best Christmas ever? This is what you pictured?” My expression must show some of what I’m feeling because he holds up his hands, as if in surrender. “I’m just trying to make sure you get the Christmas you wanted.”
“And I just pictured a tree. Any tree,” I insist, and his blatant skepticism yanks at the knot of emotions inside me, pulling tighter and tighter and tighter…until it snaps. “My perfect Christmas is screwed anyway, isn’t it? You’re here. And you and your dad are the whole fucking reason I came out here in the first place!”
His face darkens. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You bulldozed my mother’s home!” I scream at him, throwing my hands wide. “After your father stole it out from under her. After she spent every bit of her savings fighting to keep it. So where did she and my sister go? To my house! After years of hoping to get my own place, of making it mine. And your dad’s out there gloating over how she lost her house, how she lost everything. Have you seen how much it costs to rent? She can’t find anything decent, especially now that her credit’s fucked! So I have to hide in my own house because I can’t even walk in the door without them criticizing every choice I’ve ever made. And I hate it!”
Blinded by tears, by fury, by hurt, I snatch up a fistful of snow and fling it at the blurry giant figure that is Reed Knowles. “I hate it! And I hate every Knowles man alive for going after us, and going after us, and tearing us down! Wasn’t it enough to badmouth me to Harris?” I hurl another snowball. “You had to take their house? And now I can’t do anything without them sniping and sniping and sniping—and when they aren’t sniping about me, they’re sniping about everything else in the world. So my perfect Christmas? It’s not the fucking tree! It’s just being away from them. Away f-from the c-constant—”
My voice breaks. Despair rushes in, heavy in my chest. So heavy. Crushing me.
“And I have to go back!” Covering my face, I sob into my hands. “Oh god, I have to go back.”
“Don’t. No. Abbie.” Reed’s voice is low, rough—and so close. Then he wraps me in his arms, brings me in against his chest and I can’t even fight him. My fists clutch his coat and I hold on tight, sobbing into his shoulder.
Gradually I become aware of the soothing hum he’s making, and his hand stroking up and down my back. And this is worse, a million times worse, than waking up while rubbing against his dick.
My face is likely swollen and pink. I’m an ugly crier. So beet-red embarrassment won’t make much difference.
Body stiffening, I pull away. I can’t look at him as I mumble, “Sorry.”
“Hey, no.” Removing his gloves, he gently cups my face in his hands. “You took care of me. It’s my turn to do the same for you.”
He couldn’t know how that statement would affect me. My gaze flies to his, and I see nothing but concern there. And warmth. Has anyone ever taken care of me? People have done what they think is best for me. But has anyone taken care of me in a way that I actually felt cared for, even for a few measly minutes? I can’t think of one person.
Except for Reed Knowles. Of all people.
“Now you’ve got to let me apologize,” he says, his thumbs wiping the tears from my cheeks. “First of all, I’m sorry for badmouthing you to Harris. I knew nothing about you. So I should have kept my mouth shut.”
I don’t trust my voice yet, so I just give a small nod. Accepting that apology.
He takes a deep breath. “And the second thing… Fuck, I’m sorry for this. I’m so sorry to tell you this. But your mom was the one who approached my dad about taking the house off her hands.”
I jerk back, staring up into his face. “What?”
His eyes are solemn. “The assessed value of the house did increase and the property taxes went up—but most do over time, and there are state limits on the increase. Something like three percent a year. That wasn’t the real issue, though.”
“Not the real issue?” I shake my head. “I saw the bill. The amount she owed was ridiculous. It was impossible to pay.”
“Because she hadn’t paid in over fifteen years.”
“What?” I wheeze the question as if I’ve been punched.
“From what I could tell, when the mortgage was paid off—which likely included the property tax payment—she ignored the new tax bills the county sent.”
I close my eyes. Still reeling. But thinking back…I did see the huge amount owed. My mom showed me that. But never a statement with the breakdown. “So they held off for fifteen years?”