Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 99736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
There’s a difference this time though. Brody and I might be new, we have no idea what we’re doing, we need the help of two different therapists, and we’re still feeling our way, but what Brody and I have? It’s so much better than sex, than dating, than anything else I’ve ever experienced.
What we have is hope.
And until today, I’ve never realised how much impact one tiny little emotion could have.
“I can totally see that with you and Reed. You’d make the most perfect parents ever.”
Me, on the other hand, would worry every time the kid made a weird noise. I’d probably think it was choking or something. I’d also do stupid stuff like refer to it as an it.
“It’ll make Reed happy,” Law says. “I think he was born a dad.”
I snort. “He’s so a dad. I can imagine all the dad jokes now.”
“You’ll get there one day.”
“I’ll start brushing up on my dad jokes now,” I say dryly. “But nah, I think I need realistic goals, and being in an actual long-term relationship should be the only one on my list.”
The idea of telling Law that I’m dating Brody crosses my mind, and I begin to wonder why I’ve been so against the idea. Yeah, he’ll worry, but this thing with Brody is something that should be celebrated.
In the short time I’ve been living with him, I’ve broken down more barriers than I have in the last five years.
“Law …”
My brother levels me with that look—the one where he tries to hide his concern for me—and the nerves get the better of me.
“I’m going to kick your ass in training today. Just so you know.”
He breaks into a smile. “Bring. It.”
18
Brody
Dad cocks a grey eyebrow at me. For a guy in his mid-fifties, he looks a lot older. Stress of the job he always used to tell me. But even though he seems older, he still has a distinguished charm to his looks, so he doesn’t look ragged.
Still, if I’m determined to go down the same path as my father—which, for some reason I have my heart set on—I’m probably staring at my future.
Angry lines across his forehead. Mouth permanently tugged downwards.
The minute I walked into his office, he was on me about Rachel.
“So, this has nothing to do with a case or my work or anything to do with the firm?” I clarify.
“Didn’t you hear me? I haven’t heard from your sister in over two months.”
“When you told her to come the fuck home now? I know.”
“You’re in contact with her? I’ve been worried sick about her over in … whatever run-down hell on earth she fled to.”
“Guatemala,” I supply helpfully. He might want to know that in case she ever did go missing. “She calls me every other week. I asked her to call me every week, but she’s Rachel.”
Dad shakes his head. “When is she going to learn she can’t go galivanting across the world and into dangerous situations?”
For a quick second, I see a father worried about his daughter. Considering all the jokes Parker and Rachel have about that never being possible, I almost want to take out my phone and record it so they can see he does have a heart.
It’s easy to see where they’re coming from though. The only reason I have much of a relationship with him is because I followed in his footsteps. I remember Parker once said he’d never sell out and become some stooge just to spend time with a guy who clearly doesn’t want to spend time with him.
I do believe he loves us, in his own way. Otherwise, why would I be killing myself in this job I don’t even like?
“She’s fine, Dad, and if that’s all, I need to get back to work.” I stand.
“If she calls you again—”
“I’ll tell her you said to get her reckless ass home.”
“Thank you. Oh, and how’s it working out with Annabelle Fields? Is she taking the case in the right direction, do you think?”
I’m not sure if Dad is playing a game—making me think this meeting isn’t about work and then flipping a switch so casually I’m not supposed to pick up on it—or if we’re actually doing the idle chitchat thing.
“She’s taking the direction you would have.”
Dad purses his lips. “But not the direction you would.”
“I wouldn’t be taking it to trial. I’d be trying to get a plea deal.”
Dad looks surprised. “Why? Plea deals are for the uncertain or repeat offenders. This is an easy case to be dismissed. First offence, classic he said, she said, with no signs of forcible rape, and a girl with a reputation.”
I grit my teeth. There’d be no point telling my father that society as a whole has to stop with that mentality. The statistics are on her side, but rape is one of the hardest things to prove in cases like this, and it’s the exact reason why so many victims don’t come forward.