Page 58 of Waiting For A Girl Like You
The awful terror pushed her from the kayak, sending her falling onto the muddy sand. Shoving herself upright, she fought her way over theshore with its slick roots and jagged branches as they tore at her skin. The steep embankment loomed ahead, her muscles threatening to lock up before she even attempted the climb.
But digging her fingers into the earth, she clawed her way up. The dirt packed under her nails made her skin crawl, and in those last few feet, she thought she would fall and have to start over.
But she didn’t. Cresting the top, she rolled onto the flat ground, finding her footing immediately. She ran as fast as she could, never stopping. Not even when Parker burst from around the front of the shack, dragging a crying Madison to the truck with Emmett behind them. She didn’t stop when the truck’s engine roared, its tires squealing as it vanished down the road.
She didn’t stop when voices erupted from inside the shack. Liam and Bruce’s shouts overlapped, both issuing commands neither seemed willing to obey.
She didn’t stop when her heart screamed,you’retoo late. A lie she refused to believe. It wasn’t too late. It would never be too late. She and Liam had a life to live. A destiny to fulfill. A story to see to its end.
But then—
A gunshot.
One. Single. Shot.
The sound cracked across the inlet, and her knees buckled. She hit the ground hard, her raw, animalistic screams ripping through the air.
And just like that…
Jamison Fairweather’s world stopped.
Chapter 13
2000
You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.
“Charles, are you listening to me?”
You make me happy when skies are gray.
“Charles?”
He should answer his mother. He should talk. He should try. For Tobias. For Cecilia. He should pretend.
But really, he just wanted to listen to his Livy sing.
The fire popped and crackled as if it were devouring real wood with its heat. But it wasn’t. A cheap imitation made of plastic, the logs in the fireplace at his mother’s home weren’t real, and neither was most of the shit crowding the space.
The sitting room right off the foyer was a poor replacement for the one at Parkland Grounds, and he hoped she hated it. He hoped she rotted here, remembering her glory days of being the Fairweather Viper Queen to all those venomous bitches who loved to hate the world as much as she did.
But, oh baby, look at her now.
Helen Fairweather did not wear the distinction of middle class well. Sure, she had more money than the average person, but it wasn’t enough. Not for her. The small amount left to her by her husband and her family's investments would never be enough for this woman’s lavish taste.
“Charles!”
“Yes, Mother?”
The high-back chairs they sat in squeaked every time either of them moved. Furniture of the lowest quality filled the ground level, all of it—much like Helen—on full display as it pretended to be something it wasn’t. Wealthy and worthy enough to grace a place grander than this three-story monstrosity built on the outskirts of Houston.
Toeing the rug likely purchased from some mass-market home interior store, Charlie fought not to snicker at the idea of his mother wandering a showroom with other shoppers as she searched for decor that resembled her previous life. Nothing in the house matched. Not the outlandish floral rugs nor the couches and chairs with their horrible geometric patterns. At least there was a decent formal dining set with a side cabinet and hutch. However, it held a piss-poor set of cheap china Helen would probably never use because who in the hell would come here to visit?
Oh, yes, how the mighty had fallen. He was glad for it. Even if she were his only savior in this hell, he was glad he had the chance to witness Helen’s fall. He knew Ben paid her a visit, as did Miranda. They came begging for his kids while he was in that facility getting better, and God, he wished he could have seen their faces when they walked through the door.
Helen took a sip from the elegant crystal glass in her hand. Proper to a fault, she drank slowly, as if the red wine sloshing around inside the goblet hadn’t come from a box.
“You can no longer stay here,” she said, not bothering to meet his gaze while announcing his time was up. “You’re fine now and need to get on with your life.”
