Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 131271 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 656(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131271 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 656(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
“Thanks for... this,” I say, gesturing to the box.
“Of course,” she replies. “Thanks for the bribery.”
Her dad glances between us with a small, confused smile pulling at the corners of his mouth and deepening lines on his face. Riley has her mother’s lips but her father’s facial expressions. Funny the way that works.
My mind is spinning as I step outside into the cool night air. The journal’s heavy in my pocket, and I know I’ll spend hours reading it, trying to make sense of a man who was equal parts hero and villain in my life. A man me and my brothers will spend forever associated with.
And as I walk to my car, I can’t help but think about the difference between Carl and Riley’s dad. Where Carl was cold and distant, Riley’s dad was warm, welcoming, supportive. Maybe that’s why I feel drawn to her, because she’s a reminder of the kind of family I always wanted. The kind of man I want to be.
I climb into my car, the weight of the journal pressing against my thigh, and I drive home, knowing this is just the beginning of a whole lot of questions I’m not sure I want answers to, because even if I can face up to the truth and accept it, Jacob isn’t ready for any Carl Drayton stone to be lifted, let alone turned.
28
RILEY
I haven’t made an Icing the Cake episode in ages or spent any time with my friends. Imani and Katerina have been blowing up my phone, suggesting shopping trips and girly dinners, but with my boys offering foot massages, pasta, and mind-blowing sex, I’ve hunkered down at the Draytons most nights.
Even Dad complained last night that I wasn’t home enough to concentrate on my studies, and I managed to get him off my back by telling him about the internship and inferring I was chosen for my skills rather than out of a hat. The guilt for lying is manageable because I know I focus on my work.
In between the foot rubs, carbs, and orgasms, me and the Draytons sit around in the den writing assignments and catching up on reading until Shawn cracks a joke and distracts us into a twenty-minute conversation about ducks or the time he fell into a dumpster or forgets I’m there and overshares about a past conquest. He got one pass for that, but last night, I tossed a shoe at his head. Hopefully, he’s learned his lesson. I’m cool, but I’m not a fool, and I don’t want images of my man with other women in my head, no matter how hilarious they might be.
Making another episode for my channel has to be my priority. I can’t let it lapse into obscurity. I need the money I make from monetizing the content and the merchandise I sell to support my dad’s efforts at paying for my education. I don’t want to take out huge loans and end up drowning in debt before I’ve even had a chance to earn a buck in my chosen career.
Dad thinks I make baking-inspired content because there’s always cake or cookies around after I’ve filmed. Telling him about the hockey aspect would reveal just how much I’ve focused on the Draytons over the years, with much of it negative or critical. Even thinking about some of the episodes I’ve made fills my belly with an anxious swell. Now I know them and care for them, the past episodes are disconnected. I’ve become divorced from the original purpose of the vlog, so maybe that’s why I’m having such a hard time thinking about how to approach it going forward.
Will people still watch if my content loses its edge? If I become too complimentary, will they wonder why it’s changed? That could result in people asking questions, which is never good when you’re trying to remain anonymous.
I stare at my laptop screen, the cursor blinking at me like it knows I’m avoiding everything I should be doing. The blank page taunts me, but I can’t seem to find the focus to plan my next Icing the Cake episode.
The Draytons are sprawled out in the den, Jacob half-asleep with his feet propped up on the coffee table, Hayes quietly reading some finance textbook, and Shawn flicking through channels with the remote like it’s an Olympic sport. It’s a scene I’ve come to know so well, comforting, familiar, safe.
But the longer I sit here with my untouched to-do list, the more the weight of my own choices presses down on me. I can’t keep using this cocoon of love as an excuse to ignore my responsibilities.
I glance at Jacob, his jaw slack in sleep, the dark circles under his eyes deep. He’s told me that his headaches have been less frequent, but I’m not sure I believe him. I’m worried that he’s not taking his symptoms seriously or that he’s unwilling to confide about his pain. I love him for the way he lets me believe he’s okay, even when he’s not, because he can’t stand the thought of me worrying. I love the strength he shows, even when I know he’s struggling beneath it all.