Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 80652 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80652 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
I couldn’t, in good conscience, depart Whitebridge and leave my only niece to grow up in drug-addicted squalor. Once upon a time, I thought it was enough to send a check every month—believing that it was more than enough to provide them a comfortable life. Denial allowed me to turn a blind eye to reality, and my fixation on chasing my own dreams only fueled that. But I wouldn’t be the man I am today if I didn’t have the capacity to learn from my mistakes and admit when I need to change course. The instant I understood the circumstances surrounding Scarlett’s living conditions, I didn’t hesitate to call my attorney and piece together a plan to get her away from Lexi and under my custodial care.
Unfortunately, the court doesn’t simply terminate parental rights because someone’s an unfit parent. Turns out there’s an entire elaborate system and a million hoops to jump through in addition to a myriad of opportunities for the parent to prove to the courts that they’re fit.
Scarlett’s mom put up a good fight, but in the end, she loved the pipe and the bottle more than her daughter, and she couldn’t keep the facade going any longer.
My only regret is that I waited as long as I did, but given the fact that I avoided my hometown like the plague, I’d never known how bad it was for Scarlett.
They say ignorance is bliss, but sometimes that very same bliss will screw you over.
I take an unhurried sip of liquor, letting the thick amber liquid burn on the way down, and then I remind myself Scarlett never learned boundaries from her mother. She never knew the love of a father—seeing how hers died when she was a baby—and her mother never could keep a decent man around longer than a few months at a time.
I also remind myself that I’m new at this, that Scarlett didn’t come with an instruction manual.
My brother, Will, was nineteen when he knocked up his seventeen-year-old girlfriend. The situation was less than ideal, of course, but in small-town, backwoods Whitebridge, that sort of thing happened all the time.
As his older brother, I wanted better for him. I told him to man up and do the right thing to take care of his family. Given that school was never his forte and the best jobs in Whitebridge hardly paid livable wages, we both decided the army was the next logical step.
Or rather, he hemmed and hawed, so I decided for him.
His heartsick girlfriend, Lexi, wrote him letters every day when he was at boot camp, sending update pictures of her growing belly with each passing week. Fortunately, Will’s first return home coincided with the birth of their baby. But within the first six months of Scarlett’s life, her father was stationed overseas.
For as long as I live, I’ll never forget sitting in Mom’s garage, sipping beers as he tried to act brave and I tried to act brave for him. By the end of the night, we’d each polished off a six-pack, and I’d promised—on my life—to watch over his girls should he not make it home alive.
With a punch to the arm and a healthy dose of denial, I’d told him to shut the hell up with that kind of talk.
And then I’d promised.
Five months later, he and eight other soldiers were taken out by a roadside IED after handing out water and blankets to civilians in some war-torn Middle Eastern city.
Not a day goes by that I don’t hate myself for pushing him into the military.
If I hadn’t been so damn adamant and had let Will think for himself for once, he’d still be here, and I have no doubt he’d be one hell of a father to Scarlett.
The kind she deserves.
He was always so good with kids—maybe because he was just a big kid himself. But they always seemed to gravitate toward him, toward his gigantic smile and willingness to make a fool of himself for a couple of laughs.
We were night and day, Will and I.
But he was my best friend.
And I’d give everything I have right now for one more day with him.
I may have stepped into Scarlett’s life a little later than I should have, but I can’t let my brother down again. I can’t ship his daughter off for someone else to deal with after I gave him my word.
I have to make this work.
If I don’t, I’ve failed Will and Scarlett—the only family I’ve ever given a damn about.
Tossing back the remainder of my scotch, I rest the empty tumbler on a coaster—next to the copy of Made Man Scarlett was paging through earlier in the evening. In her haste to leave, she left it open on Elle’s February article.
Grabbing the magazine, I examine her photo, but this time in a different light.