Sheriff Daddy (Montana Daddies Book 10) by Laylah Roberts (good book club books txt) 📗

starting to fall out. She was a complete and utter mess.

She drew her legs up to her chest and rested her head against her knees.

Calm down. Calm down.

She dragged herself up. She leaned against the wall until she was certain that her legs would hold her up. Reaching over, she flushed the toilet.

Those pink flamingos had been a terrible idea. Especially, when she had barely eaten yesterday. Turning to the sink, she ran the cold water. She put her wrists under the cool stream, hoping it would help. Then she gathered up handfuls and splashed the water on her face. When her heartbeat had finally slowed, she grabbed a hand towel and patted her face dry.

She didn’t want to look in the mirror. She didn’t want to see her reflection staring back at her.

But she knew she had to.

A James never hid.

So she forced herself to stare into the mirror and winced at the reflection staring back at her. Wide eyes, pale skin, thin face. She was fast approaching gaunt. Fuck. She had to get herself back under control.

You’re a mess.

You’re not allowed to be a mess.

You’re supposed to cope with everything thrown at you. You’re not supposed to fall apart.

Somehow, the pep talk did little to help her precarious state of mind. Why had she come here? What did she think she was going to gain? Did she really come here because of a kiss?

How ridiculous was that?

Except she knew it wasn’t just the kiss. It was because she had no life. Nothing to look forward to. The only thing that had brought her any sort of joy was that kiss.

She’d just wanted some of that back.

Still ridiculous. But understandable.

She moved, turning on the shower and then pulling off her clothes quickly. She jumped in before it had gotten warm. The chill made her shiver then it was soon scorching hot.

Grabbing a cloth, she started scrubbing at her skin angrily. It was the only way to deal with the nightmare. To wash it away. To keep washing until the feel of his hands on her were gone.

But somehow, no matter how much scrubbing she did, the feeling never disappeared.

When she got out, she dried herself off. She was still trembling. This was ridiculous. This was all in her head. None of it was real.

“You’re stronger than this, Georgina. You’re not allowed to fall apart. You’re not supposed to burn out.” She stepped in front of the mirror. All she had to do was confront her demons, then they’d leave, right? There was no point running or hiding. That never worked. Look at her right now. She’d come here, trying to run from them.

But the demons were inside her. So they’d never leave until she confronted them.

Taking a deep breath, she removed the towel, staring in the mirror at her body. She let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She did everything she could to avoid looking at herself naked. The scars that riddled her body just served to remind her of everything that she’d suffered through.

She was a coward.

She ran her trembling fingers over the large scar on her stomach. She sucked in a breath. Logically, she knew that it was old, faded. Had been there for years. But when she touched it, she flinched. As though it had pained her.

Her breathing grew shallower. She forced her fingers away from that scar and to the one over her right breast. Her screams of pain filled her head.

“Calm. Calm.”

The last scar she touched was the most recent. This was the reason her nightmares had become a nightly occurrence. A bullet wound through her arm. A flesh wound. It was healed, but she could still feel it searing through her skin.

Unable to take any more, she wrapped the towel back around her. She headed towards the bed. Today, she was going to hide. Grabbing her favorite onesie, she pulled it on. It had a skull and crossbones on the front and a drop-seat. Lifting the pillow, she drew out the hidden item underneath. If anyone saw her in the onesie or found out she slept with this, she’d be humiliated.

Likely, her mother would have her committed. They’d claim she had temporary insanity or something. There was no way her thirty-four-year-old daughter would be sleeping with a toy parrot. But she wasn’t giving Squawkers up. She couldn’t. Her father had bought Squawkers for her when he’d taken her to a musical show about pirates. She’d been six. That had been one of the best days in her life.

Squawkers was all she had left of him, other than her memories.

Almost all day, every day, she had to push herself to be better, stronger, smarter. She had to hold back what she was really thinking. She hid beneath dull clothes and a cool demeanor. This . . . this was the only way she had of unwinding.

She knew what she was. She understood her needs and desires. But having a soft toy and sucking her thumb . . . it often wasn’t enough to keep the anxiety and pressure at bay.

She clutched Squawkers tight and slid under the covers. Today, she’d hide.

Tomorrow, she’d try to fix herself.

“Have you seen Georgie today?” Kiesha asked, striding into his office.

“Hello, Kiesha, how are you feeling today? Wake up with a headache?” Ed replied.

“I’m fine. You know I don’t get hangovers. Have you seen Georgie?” she demanded.

“No, I haven’t seen Agent James. She’s probably sleeping.” He wished he was.

“She’s not sleeping. I was just at her motel room, I banged on the door for fifteen minutes. By the way, that guy in the room next to her is a total grump. Hot, really ripped. But an absolute grump.”

He groaned. “Maybe he didn’t want to be woken up at nine-thirty on a Saturday morning by some crazy woman banging on a door for fifteen minutes.”

Kiesha waved her hand dismissively. “The point is, she’s obviously not in her room or sleeping or she would have