Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Words. She has damn good words. “When are you going to tell me why you were scared shitless at the idea of me calling the police the night you hit my mailbox?”
Serena eyes me for several seconds, an impeding frown just seconds from capturing her lips. “When are you going to tell me how you lost this house?”
I shake my head and chuckle. “Tit for tat?”
“Sure.” Serena wets her lips.
I stare at them too long before clearing my throat and averting my gaze to the plush white rug on the floor. “I have a gambling problem. I mean … I didn’t, but when my sister got sick, I couldn’t bear to watch my parents lose this house because of medical debt. I had a knack for winning. In hindsight, it was just dumb luck.”
Her nose wrinkles while she bites her lower lip. I kinda like it for some reason.
“They thought I was doing side jobs,” I continue. “But let’s be honest; it would have taken a ton of side jobs, and not giving Uncle Sam his cut, for me to have made a dent in the bills for those experimental treatments. I think Dad always knew I was doing something a little shady. And Mom didn’t blink or even take a moment to do any of the math. Every single one of us would have walked into a bank with a ski mask and a gun had we thought we could’ve gotten away with it. There’s really nothing you don’t do for people you love.”
Serena nods slowly, and a tiny flinch makes the muscles around her eyes twitch, but it’s gone as quickly as it happens.
“Emily surged into remission. Or so we thought. All that fighting … then boom! A fucking blood clot takes her. Just…” I pull in a long, shaky breath through my nose “…gone.”
“I’m so sorry,” Serena whispers.
I blow that same breath out my mouth. “I needed to feel like everything wasn’t lost. The gambling became an escape from the grief. Money … property … just … everything. It all felt so insignificant without Emily.” It takes a few moments of silence, silence for Emily, before I can look at Serena.
She quickly wipes her eyes.
Was she crying?
“Then my dad died. And I gambled away that pain too. I kept going until I lost everything.”
“And your mom never knew?” she whispers.
I shake my head. “Fate stepped in, and she moved to Germany before I lost the house. I think it would have destroyed her. Emily … my dad … then the house that had been in our family for generations.”
Resting her hands on the side of the desk, Serena’s gaze drops to her feet. “My husband died three years ago. He was my publicist. My lover. My best friend. He was the good morning kiss I miss more than anything. He was the warm embrace that lulled me into a peaceful slumber.” Glancing up, she offers a sad smile. “He died on Christmas. It destroyed me. We buried him, and days later I brought in the New Year with a lot of alcohol. In fact, I spent the following year drowning in alcohol. I ran my husband’s golf cart into the swimming pool. I was so intoxicated. My seventy-three-year-old neighbor saved my life.”
“Numb is good,” I whisper.
She shakes her head. “No. It’s awful. What’s the point of being here if we don’t feel anything? I sobered up, and I let the pain in. Then I was diagnosed with narcolepsy which one doctor thought might have been triggered by my husband’s death and the alcoholism that ensued. My publisher threatened to drop me after the golf cart incident. Then I wrecked my car, completely sober, because I fell asleep at the wheel at three in the afternoon. I hit a tree. There were some pictures of it that got out and rumors of me falling off the wagon. My blood test came back negative for alcohol, but my publisher was not in the mood to believe me. Without proof, they had to give me one more chance. So now, I have to stay out of trouble. They couldn’t care less if I’m driving drunk or driving asleep.”
“No police reports,” I say.
“No police reports.” She returns a sharp nod.
“I’m a dick. Staying here. Wrapping the whole damn house in decorations which must cause you more pain—”
Serena shakes her head. “I’m not triggered by the holidays. I’m just not in the mood for them. I don’t know … it feels disrespectful to him to enjoy this time of year. Is that weird?”
“No. I mean … you’re asking the guy who’s pretending this is still his house so he can lie to his mom. Oh … and he’s told her you’re his girlfriend.”
A beautiful, although hesitant, smile graces her face. “I’m sure there’s worse things in the world than being your girlfriend.”