Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 466(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 466(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
By the time she walked up the steps to her childhood home, water was sloshing in her shoes. Once she was under the cover of the porch, she kicked them off, along with her socks and jacket, and made her way inside. The house was warm and smelled of tobacco. Her father must’ve smoked his pipe before he left for work. She stood in the hallway and inhaled the familiar scent—one she hadn’t realized she longed for until she’d returned home.
Her relationship with her father was rocky at best. Simply put, Tremaine had no idea how to raise a daughter. He’d always had high and unreasonable expectations of her and Colt, but he seemed to go easier on her brother. The Crowley kids were expected to stay out of trouble, get good grades, and not do anything to embarrass the sheriff.
When Devy started dating Chad Campbell, Crow didn’t approve. It wasn’t because no one would ever be good enough for his daughter but because Crow had busted Chad for “parking” at the pier. Then, weeks later, he’d asked Devorah out. “Someone who does that with one girl and then moves on to another is not to be trusted,” Crow had said.
Devorah should’ve listened.
She opened the door to the basement and walked down the stairs, carrying her wet shoes and jacket. Downstairs, she stuffed her shoes with old newspaper, put them in a pillowcase, and knotted the opening. Then she stripped off her clothes and put everything into the dryer. Devy was thankful Crow was at work because the thunking sound her shoes made in the dryer would surely annoy him. She rummaged through a basket on top of the dryer, deduced that the clothes belonged to Colt, and found a T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants to slip into. When she got to the top of the stairs, she screamed and placed her hand over her pounding heart.
“What are you doing here?”
“This is my house,” her father said gruffly.
Devy stepped into the hallway and closed the door to the basement. “No, I mean why aren’t you at work?”
“I come home for lunch.”
“Oh.” She followed her father into the kitchen and stood there, wringing her hands. In Chicago, this was her space, the place where she would make her family three meals a day and where Maren would come and sit at the island bar after school and tell Devy about her day.
“Would you like me to make you something?” she asked Crow.
“No,” he said pointedly. “I can do it.”
Devy felt a mixture of rage and hurt boiling. “I know you can do it, but I’m offering because . . . because . . .” She couldn’t finish her statement before she broke down. A sob rolled from her toes until it left her mouth in an ungodly sound. She bent at her waist, wrapping her arms tightly around herself, as if she was trying (and failing) to hold everything in.
“I can’t . . .” were the only words she could get out before her father pulled her to his chest.
“Breathe, Devorah,” he said as he rubbed his hands up and down her back. “You need to breathe before you pass out.”
“It h-hurts,” she stammered through a hiccup. “Everything hurts.”
“It gets better.”
Would it, though? Was he better, or was he still bitter and angry that his wife had passed away? Devorah didn’t see how any of this could get better. Her husband had done the unthinkable. If they’d had problems in their marriage, he should’ve come to her. Instead, he’d given himself to another woman, a woman Devy had trusted implicitly. This betrayal ran deep and was unforgivable.
Her father didn’t know this sort of pain. His wife didn’t cheat or leave him for another man. She was sick, and the doctors couldn’t cure her. Yet Crow still golfed with those doctors on occasion. Or at least he had the last Devy knew.
What Crow had done, though, was shut himself off from everyone, except for work and his friends, after her mother died. Crow hadn’t comforted his children, except briefly, when he’d told them she had succumbed to cancer. He was a man of few words and even fewer emotions.
She still had to comfort her daughter and explain to Maren why her father had done something like this, and why he had allowed his mistress to be so callous in airing their dirty laundry.
Devorah stepped out of her father’s grasp, doing so first before he could let go. If he pushed her away, she’d lose it again. The Crowleys were strong and always put on a brave face despite how they felt on the inside.
She left her dad in the kitchen, to fend for himself like he wanted, and climbed the stairs to the second floor. Without changing out of Colt’s clothes, she crawled into bed, set the alarm on her phone, and pulled the covers over her head. Sleep would evade her, but she’d try. It was the least she could do for herself.