Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 28026 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 140(@200wpm)___ 112(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28026 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 140(@200wpm)___ 112(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
He’s your stepfather! the voice in my head screamed. Are you fucking serious, Emily? You’re touching yourself to thoughts of Christian Degas, your mom’s husband?
The thing is the voice was right and I was embarrassed and ashamed at my taboo reaction to the powerful alpha male. Yes, the woman in me cried out to his virile male form, begging to be taken, but at the same time I couldn’t ignore the hard reality of our situation. He’s married. To my mom. Full stop.
So I made my excuses and got out of that house within hours. I said I had a school friend who had an emergency, and I needed to support her. Then, I basically made myself absent for the next few years, avoiding Mr. Degas like the plague. My mom would talk about him sometimes, but I’d never say much in return, merely muttering “sounds good” and “that seems nice.”
But then, her conversations took another tone. She’d complain about Christian working all the time, although she was also busy with her own job. Then, he forgot their anniversary, and she was mad as a skunk about it. The complaints kept piling on, and before I knew it, they were divorced.
It’s crazy how easy, and yet how hard, divorce can be in the United States. It’s a legal battle with serious financial consequences, and to be honest, I don’t understand the nitty-gritty. But from what I do know, Christian and Pamela are legally single now. They are no longer married to one another, even as the rest of the divorce is negotiated.
I suppose that’s why Pam dragged me to the cabin.
“I can’t let him have it,” my mom hissed, throwing random items into her suitcase. “No way he’s getting the cabin as part of the settlement.”
I stare at my mom.
“Mom, I understand what you’re saying. But why do you want the cabin? You’re not an outdoorsy person, and you hate stuff like hiking and camping. This cabin is literally in the middle of nowhere with only basic amenities, while you love being pampered. Why not just let Christian have it? You can get something else.”
“Because I want it!” she replied furiously, hot spots of color on her cheeks. “No way should that man be able to keep it. Besides, possession is nine-tenths of the law, so we’re going to stake our claim, baby. Pack your bags and throw them in the car. That property is ours.”
I shook my head because I don’t exactly agree with her reasoning, but Pamela wasn’t listening. It’s been an acrimonious divorce and there’s no talking sense into her when the words just go into one ear and out the other. So I threw a couple things in a bag, and joined my mom in the car.
Now, we’re at the cabin as my mom hollers from the front porch.
“Grab your stuff, Emily!” she calls. “We’ll be making ourselves comfortable here.”
My stepfather is unmoving, his huge form towering over me. I see the skin around his eyes go tight as those words, anger making his chest puff out. Frustration emanates from him in every direction, and I soften inside. How awful it must be for Christian to be going through this. I wish I could stroke his black hair while pulling his head against my soft breast, providing comfort the way a woman does for a man.
But then his blue eyes snap back to me, and I’m reminded that this man hates me. He detests my presence in his life, and the sooner I’m gone ... the better.
3
Christian
Emily trembles a bit as we stand in the living room of my log cabin. It’s a small space because my grandfather built the place with his own hands. Sure, he had tools and the help of some neighbors, but the cabin is rough-hewn and imperfect, with walls that curve slightly and cabinets that are dated and sagging. The overhead light flickers a bit, and the entire house isn’t much more than a small living room with a utility kitchen against one wall, with one bedroom and a bath off to the side. The insulation sucks, the wind can be heard whistling through gaps in the roof sometimes, and temperatures are occasionally so frosty that I wear my coat indoors.
Still, the cabin’s been in my family for decades and I’m attached to it. There’s no way I’m giving it up to my ex just because she wants it.
“Get out,” I grit through my teeth. “I have no idea what you’re doing here.”
“Possession is nine-tenths of the law,” Pamela repeats in a lofty voice, surveying my cabin with her hands on her hips. Then, her lips frown. “This place is shitty.”
My hackles rise as I stare at her, offended.
“Then why do you want it? Leave me the cabin, and I’ll give you something else. Something that’s worth more. Just name what you want.”