They wouldn’t help.
They never did. They hadn’t brought her mom back. They hadn’t helped when she’d been sent away to school and the other kids bullied her.
And they wouldn’t help now.
Why was he like this? She would have loved him . . . if he’d only once shown that he loved her.
But it was clear that she was a pawn on his chessboard. And he’d move her wherever he needed her most.
Eighteen months later. . .
Austin, Texas
Arabella rushedinto the nursing home, breathing hard. She’d just gotten a call asking her to come down and she had no idea why.
“Hey Arabella,” Crystal greeted her with a harried look.
“Hi. Mrs. Owens just called and left a message. Do you have any idea what is going on?”
Crystal cringed. “Yes, I do. It’s?—”
“Ms. Bridges, this way.”
Shit.
Arabella glanced over to find Mrs. Owens standing there. The nursing home manager was a thin, older woman who was always grimacing.
Arabella wasn’t a fan of hers. Neither was Pop-Pop. However, this was the best nursing home in Austin. And Pop-Pop loved it here.
Sometimes he loved it a bit too much. That old man could definitely create some trouble.
Trouble that she had to keep her father from finding out. Because it wouldn’t go down well with him. He had a reputation to uphold as the Lieutenant Governor of Texas.
Or that’s what he liked to tell her.
Sometimes she dreamed about telling everyone what he was really like. But who would believe her?
Everyone loved him. It was bizarre. How could they not see that good ole boy, Hank Bridges was a lie?
The PR people behind his reimage should all get a raise because they were freaking miracle workers.
What she didn’t understand is where the money for all of this came from. How could he afford their large house in Austin when they’d been close to broke?
He was driving around in a brand new car, wore expensive clothes, and had the backing of a huge team. None of that came cheap.
Part of her thought she should try to figure all of that out.
Another part told her that it wasn’t her problem. All she cared about was getting away from him. And taking Pop-Pop with her.
“Mrs. Owens, hi! Is there an issue?” she asked with a big smile.
Mrs. Owens sniffed and stared at her like she smelled bad. Honestly, the first few times she’d dealt with the woman, she’d had to discreetly sniff herself, worried that she did smell.
“Yes, there is an issue with your grandfather. Last night there was an . . . incident.” She sniffed again.
Perhaps she had something wrong with her olfactory system.
Or she just thought that sniffing gave her more of an air of disapproval.
