Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 133688 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133688 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
Not to mention, no thirty-two-year-old man wants to be living at his parents’ and starting over. The guilt of Gemma visiting me every month was so intense that I nearly told her to stop coming even though I knew she wouldn’t listen.
They don’t exactly give you therapy in prison, and going-back-into-civilization counseling isn’t something offered, so the anxiety and depression I feel on top of everything else leads me to believe I’ve developed some sort of PTSD. The trauma of what happened to Gabe and me landing in prison affected everyone in my town, especially my dad and sister. I’ve lived with the guilt of that night for ten years, and no one, not even my family, can convince me I deserve a happy life when I took another. Falling in love and starting a family would be a dream, but a part of me doesn't believe I’ve earned it while the other part desperately begs for a fresh start.
Honestly, it’s like living in a broken home inside my head. One side of my thoughts always blames the other, and they’re always fighting. It’s quite exhausting, which is why it’s best to keep myself occupied so I don’t have time to think about it.
Dad’s suggested I find a therapist before I was released, and I’ve been thinking about it though I’m hesitant. I was never good at expressing my feelings or sharing my thoughts, which is exactly why Katie never knew how I felt.
A part of me always wondered why that was.
It brings me to thoughts of my late mother, who I lost at a young age, and I wonder if having a woman figure in my life would’ve helped me be more open. My father did the best he could raising us alone, but he wasn’t expressive either. We didn’t discuss deep personal issues, and my sister was the quiet one out of us all. It wasn’t until she started to visit me in prison with Tyler that I saw her outgoing personality.
“We’re wrapping up for the day,” Tyler tells me just before five. “Wanna get a beer?”
I grab a towel and wipe off my hands. “I’d rather not go to a bar tonight, but thanks for the invitation.”
“I understand. Come over to the cottage then. Gemma’s been texting me for the past two hours about how good it smells. She made pot roast.”
Chuckling, I nod. “Alright, sure, thanks.”
“I’ll lock up, and we’ll get outta here. Smith, you ready?”
“Ready, boss.”
The three of us head outside, and I watch as Tyler locks the door.
“Stop beating yourself up, man,” Tyler says as he catches me looking at the boarded-up window. “I already called insurance, and a new window will be installed tomorrow, along with security cameras.”
I nod and hope this is the only incident I have to deal with, but a part of me thinks that’s too good to be true. For some reason, this feels like a warning shot.
CHAPTER NINE
KATIE
“Hey, buddy…” I tap my knuckles against Owen’s door. “Dinner’s ready.”
“Okay. Be right there, Mom.”
“I think you need to clean this room…” I say, glancing around at the Lego pieces and other random toys on the floor.
He furrows his brows. “It is.”
I snort, then pick up a piece of clothing. “Oh, is the floor your new hamper?”
His face turns red as he takes the dirty underwear from my hand and tosses it into his basket. I turn as Owen follows me to the kitchen.
Since it’s Friday, I’d usually be at the other house working for a couple of hours, but I couldn’t get a sitter, and after the long week I’ve had, I was content with staying in with Owen.
“So, tell me about school today. Anything fun happen?”
“No, school’s boring.” He groans as he twirls the spaghetti around his fork.
“Even recess and lunch?” I tease.
“No, those are fun.”
“So…” I linger, trying to ease into the conversation naturally. “Do you play with Anthony during recess?”
The image of Brittany all over Noah hasn’t left my mind, and even though it shouldn’t bother me, I’m annoyed by how much it does. I may be mad as hell at him, but I still care.
“Yeah, we play sometimes. We have to sit alphabetically at the lunch table, so he’s kinda across from me.”
“Ohh gotcha.”
“He doesn’t have a daddy, like me,” he blurts out, and I’m taken off guard.
“You guys have talked about that?” I ask, shocked.
“Just a little. We had a class project where we had to make a family tree.”
I furrow my brows because I had no idea about this. “Why didn’t you tell me, Owen?”
He shrugs, gazing down at his plate instead of at me. “I don’t know.”
I’ve talked to him about Gabe his whole life but haven’t told him everything about the night he died. I don’t want him to feel any of the resentment and anger I have, so I try to only talk about the good memories I shared with his dad.