Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
“He’s gone,” I tell Dusty.
“Where did he go?”
“He left for California early.”
Dusty goes down, collapsing into a heap on the porch. He loves Morgan so damn much, and I hate that my brother hurt him, hate that he left him all because of one moment in time.
I walk over and sit beside him. “We fucked up.”
“You can say that again.”
“You’re in love with him?” I ask, but don’t wait for him to reply. “He’ll get over it. He’ll stop being a big fucking baby and get everything he wants because that’s how life works for him.” Morgan will follow his dreams, not Dad’s. He’ll get Dusty, and I’ll always be alone.
CHAPTER ONE
Rhett
Present day
I have no idea what I’m doing here.
I sit in the driver’s seat of the new truck I recently purchased and stare out at the snow coming down. It’s January, one of the coldest months of the year in the UP, but we haven’t yet received the amount of snow typical for this area. It’s cloudy and gray, and I’m sitting here thinking about the weather rather than doing what I came here to do.
I don’t know how I feel about this. I don’t see how talking to someone can help. It’s giving power to another person, and that’s something I promised myself I would never do again. I’ve always needed to be in control—except when it came to my father—but ever since last summer, when he was so hateful to East the last time he was arrested, I haven’t had anything to do with him. I’ve sworn to be my own man and not let anyone have power over me again.
And it’s freeing in some ways, but in others, I can’t seem to get myself out of the chains that come along with being Rhett Swift—that come with being a Swift, really.
I force myself to get out of the truck, the cold air biting at my skin as I make my way toward the building. After pulling open the first door, I shake the snow off my jacket and continue inside. There’s a pit in my stomach that grows by the second, but I do my best to ignore it the way I’ve ignored too many things in my life.
Once inside, I see a white woman behind the main desk. A couple of people are sitting in the waiting room, but I don’t recognize any of them from Birchbark, where I live. I specifically came to Lillington in the hopes of keeping my business to myself. Funny how everyone knows everything about everyone, but no one ever figured out that my dad is a manipulative, emotionally abusive motherfucker. Or if they did figure it out, they didn’t care enough to do anything about it.
“Can I help you?” The woman smiles at me in a way that says she can tell I’m nervous, so I school my features, stand up straight, and put on the mask I’ve worn my whole life.
“I’m Rhett Swift. I’m here to see Talia,” I say with a confidence that has probably never been real.
“It looks like you filled out all your paperwork online, so we just need to get a copy of your ID and insurance card.”
I pull out my wallet and hand them over. After she’s done, I make my copayment, then find a chair away from the others and wait. It’s probably less than two minutes later when a woman with twists in her hair and pretty brown skin peeks out a door. I immediately recognize her from the photo online and know she’s here for me. I searched through every therapist profile from numerous offices until I decided on Talia. She specializes in family trauma.
“Rhett?” she asks, and I push to my feet. I figure I should feel something right now, but I’ve gotten good at turning off my emotions when I need to. I’m sure my therapist will have a field day with that, but where Morgan and East seem to feel everything, I worry I’ve trained myself not to feel enough.
“That’s me.”
She leads me through the back of the office to a room with a couch, two comfortable-looking armchairs, and self-help quotes on the wall. It’s exactly how I figured a therapist’s office would look.
“I’m Talia. Nice to meet you.” She holds out her hand and we shake. “You can hang your jacket up on the rack if you’d like.”
I do as she says, removing it, my gloves, and my beanie, then take a seat in the chair farthest from where I assume she will sit, and my assumption proves right.
“I thought we could start by you telling me a little about why you’re here today.”
I frown. “Didn’t you read that in the paperwork I filled out?” What was the point in doing it if she didn’t read it? Maybe she wasn’t the best choice. Maybe she’s not thorough in her job. I could leave. Find someone else. I could—