Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 146548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 733(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 146548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 733(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
He inhales. “I said it was a bad idea. I didn’t say this would happen.”
I rest my hand on the back of my neck. “I’m okay.”
“You’re not okay,” he says with another inhale, and his phone starts ringing. Oscar again.
Before he rejects the call for me, I tell him, “I’m going to find the letter you wrote Beckett.”
He studies my expression, and I try to breathe better, stronger. Seeing that, he nods. “I’ll take this, and we’ll meet back up?”
“Yeah,” I agree.
I think it’s killing him not to kiss me in a short goodbye. He wavers.
“I’m sorry—”
He cuts me off, “No, don’t be. You’re giving me more than enough, wolf scout. I’m here for what you need, and you need privacy.” He lifts his brows. “Later?”
I nod. “Later.” And I exhale even bigger.
Farrow has to redial Oscar since the call rung out, and while he returns to the couch, I pop my knuckles and head to Beckett, Charlie, and Sulli’s table. Game pieces spread out, colorful cards in hand.
A gold dragon-headed cane is propped against the table. Eliot has been swapping out Charlie’s canes every so often with new ones. And whenever I see my cousin, his newest cane looks more ostentatious and bizarre.
Beckett leans back on his chair, cigarette between his lips. I’ve been so goddamn concerned about Beckett, but since he’s not using right now, the most I can do is check in with Charlie. Which is difficult since Charlie ignores me more than half the time. But until Beckett returns to ballet, it has to be enough.
“Hey, Beck,” I say. “Where’s the letter Farrow gave you? I want to read it.” Can’t think of a better pick-me-up.
“Oh yeah, it’s a good fucking letter,” Sulli says with a strong nod, rolling dice.
Jesus. Has everyone really read this letter but me?
“It’s in my cabin. Top dresser.” Beckett taps ash into an ashtray, and very meticulously, he wipes the rim. Charlie watches his twin brother more fixatedly than usual.
“Thanks.”
“I like him, by the way,” Beckett tells me honestly. “Farrow, he’s really good for you.”
My eyes almost grow. Is this letter magical or something?
Charlie says to the table, “Does anyone have any sheep they’d trade for brick?”
“Fuck, you can take all my sheep for wood or wheat,” Sulli says.
I walk away and tune out Charlie’s response. My bare feet pad along the deck, and I slip through the sliding glass doors. Entering the main saloon, this living room area is quiet and dimly lit. I thought I’d find my brother and sisters here, but all three are gone.
I ascend winding steps to the second-floor where there’s a stretch of cabins. In the hall, I slow down at a door, muffled voices filtering through.
“Love you too, Luna,” Xander says, his breath caught short again. A giant part of me wants to go inside that cabin and fix this. But he made it clear that he wanted space, and I think I should give him that.
I pass their door, and then another one at the end of the hall swings open.
Rowin emerges from his cabin.
He’s really the last person I want to run into right now, but I try to be casual; in my head I’m taking solace in the fact that these next few days will be his last with my family.
“Hey, Rowin,” I say, still on course to Beckett’s cabin.
“Hi, Maximoff.”
And I feel his blue eyes travel all over my body: my bare chest, my abs, my arms and legs, my dick. It’s making me more aware that I’m barely covered in a skin-tight bathing suit. And I’m used to eyes pressing on my body. Ogling and gawking, all normal for me. But not from my man’s ex-boyfriend.
I glare. “Can you not do that?” Not only am I fucking uncomfortable, but I can feel just how badly this would pain and enrage Farrow.
Needing to move forward, I don’t wait for Rowin to respond. I just rotate to the door on my right, and I grip the knob to Beckett’s cabin. I turn—it’s locked.
Great.
I suddenly marbleize…
I sense his presence encroaching my space. But my brain shrieks, there’s no way, there’s no damn way this is happening. My brows knit, and I slowly check behind my shoulder.
Rowin slinks up on me, seemingly so rapidly because my reflexes lurch in shock. His intrusive gaze is tearing off my swimsuit, his hands dangerously close. I whip around at the same time that his hands sink on either side of the door.
Trapping me for a tense beat while his mouth tries to near mine—I shove his chest with all my goddamn strength.
His back thumps into the wall, disbelief widening his eyes.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I glower, winded and pained like I’m currently running the ultra-marathon on the roughest fucking terrain.
“Come on,” Rowin says like I’m oblivious, and he tucks a piece of his deep auburn hair behind his ear.