Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 40275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 201(@200wpm)___ 161(@250wpm)___ 134(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 201(@200wpm)___ 161(@250wpm)___ 134(@300wpm)
Back at the house, Janie has left for the night. And this house feels way more like home with Marin in it. I’m in the kitchen, pouring myself a bourbon and making her a virgin mojito. In the room next door, I hear her talking to Stevie. She insisted on bringing him back some risotto arancini and also tiramisu.
“So how was it?” Stevie asks. “Christ, this tiramisu is awesome.”
She laughs sweetly. Somehow, I guess she’s sharing the tiramisu with him. “It was amazing. I passed out, it was so good.”
I muffle a snicker and listen for Stevie’s response. “No way.”
She giggles again. “I mean, it was amazing. I’ll say that much.”
I listen to the sound of their spoons on the take-out container and look out into the yard. For one fucking second, I see a flash-forward to another time. A hope. A dream.
A pile of leaves, carving pumpkins… and a pregnant Marin sipping hot cider by the fire pit.
Fuck. My heart. My heart just absolutely aches at the thought of it. Because I don’t know if I deserve her, but holy Jesus—I hope I do.
I’ve blocked old Franklin Baron on my phone after reading his ten text messages and listening to one of his voice mails. He must have gotten my number from Callahan because those two are as thick as burned oil.
When I put it together, I called her out on her fake name too. I didn’t tell her how I figured it out though. She said she’s not all that proud of her lineage and I can’t say I disagree. I disliked her grandfather before but now?
Now?
Let’s just say he’s had a nice life. Or he hasn’t. I don’t give a fuck but if he so much as throws a nasty look ever again at Marin?
What he saw me do to that fucker in the alley will seem like a massage at a day spa compared to what I’ll do to him.
He fucking left his granddaughter at the cabin. His voicemail saying, ‘I’m storing something at your cabin. You owe me. Don’t go checking on it. I’ll pick it up in the spring. Mind your own business and I’ll forget what I saw. If you decide to get nosey, I’ve got Police Chief Reynolds on speed dial. He’s a deacon at my church. You call me back and tell me you got this message and we have an agreement. Your cabin for the winter for me forgetting what I saw. I’ll be waiting with my finger on speed dial.”
What a righteous fuck he is.
Rage tosses tinder onto my rising temper but there’s nothing to do about him right now. I’ve got the prize he decided to throw away like an old lottery ticket and he can go pound fucking rocks in that mansion of his by himself for the rest of his days.
Which will be numbered if he tries to mess with my girl ever again.
“By the way,” comes Stevie’s voice, breaking my daydream. “About my brother…”
I freeze with the muddler crushing the mint. Uh oh…
“He’s not as bad as everybody says he is. I swear. He’s a jerk. He’s got a temper. But he’s not nearly…”
Marin clears her voice in surprise. “Does everybody say he’s bad?” she asks, with a worried little lilt.
Shit. Shit.
I grab our drinks and head into the living room. I’ll tell her everything, and soon, but not like this, not right now. I clear my voice and jingle the ice, making some noise to interrupt them. “Damn, you two. Looks like we should have gotten two tiramisus.”
Marin’s big innocent eyes look up at me. She doesn’t look doubtful, but maybe a little surprised. I give her the virgin mojito and glance at my watch. I know what he said to her and I know she’s gonna have questions. It’s time to tell her the truth. No lies. Not between us.
“You better get some rest, brother,” I say to Stevie.
Stevie glares at me. “Since when you tell me it’s bedtime?”
Since I fell in love with a temptress.
I give him the side eyes and he gets the message, playing along with a very sudden yawn. “But yeah, you’re right, big brother. You always know best!”
I roll my eyes at him and then wheel him into his room, then into his bathroom I help him get his teeth brushed and take a piss, and all the stuff he can’t do on his own—thanks to me.
I carry him to his bed and tuck him in, making sure he’s got his iPad and his little emergency button in case he needs anything in the night.
“Night, brother,” I tell him, messing his hair then planting a quick kiss on the top of his head, which he both loves and hates since he was a baby.
“Night, dickhead,” he groans, and I switch off the lights. But before I can get very far down the hallway, he calls me back. “Wait, Davis. Come back.”