Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 108141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
“This is Ethan.” Nevaeh smiles sweetly. “My boyfriend. Ethan, this is my best friend, Blaire.”
Blaire’s eyes go wide and she chokes out a cough. “I knew someone was with you,” she scolds her friend. “You’ve never once mentioned him.” Her eyes squint in confusion, then turn to hurt.
“I know, I’m sorry,” Nevaeh says. “I promise I’ll explain everything soon. I just—”
“Oh. My. God. Is that…” Her friend grabs Nevaeh’s shoulder and pulls the strap down a little so she can see the entire tattoo. “This is so hot! I can’t believe you got a tattoo without me!”
“Blaire,” Nevaeh hisses. “Not now.” She pulls her strap back up and quickly puts her sweater back on.
Blaire grins wide. “Fine, but soon.” She glances over at me and winks, and I chuckle under my breath, glad to have someone on my side.
We walk down the aisle toward the front, and Nevaeh gets stopped by several people along the way—either giving their condolences or asking where she’s been and if she’s okay.
When we reach the front, Nevaeh gives an older gentleman a hug and then introduces him to me as her father. Unlike her mother, his eyes are soft and sincere. He’s sad and mourning for the loss of his son. He doesn’t question Nevaeh, but he does ask if she’s okay. When she tells him she is, he tells her he loves her.
We sit in the front row—I remind her it’s only for family, but she argues she doesn’t care and I’m not going anywhere. Her mother joins us, and after glaring our way, sits next to her husband. The service is a typical Catholic service, and when it ends, everyone moves outside for the burial. I hold Nevaeh the entire time, surveying our surroundings to make sure Logan doesn’t show up. I’ve yet to find out what this Felix guy looks like—my dad is asking around—so I’m on high alert, assessing everyone around us.
“Are you back for good?” Blaire asks when the service is over.
“No, I’m just here for the funeral. Ethan and I are going to stay a little longer at the beach house.”
“What?” Nevaeh’s mom, Susan, screeches. “You’re shacking up with this man? Is this why you quit your job and took off?”
“Actually, Mother…” Nevaeh spits. “I took off because I found out from Stephen some things about you.”
Susan’s spine straightens.
“And unless you want to have this conversation right here in front of everyone, I suggest you stop talking.”
“Nevaeh, what has gotten into you?” Susan fumes.
“You!” Nevaeh hisses. “Your lies.” She steps closer to her mother, but then she stops in her place. Her head drops down slightly and I rush around her, concerned. Her eyes are shut tightly and her face is contorted in pain.
“Angel, what’s wrong?” I pull her into my arms. “Baby…”
“My head,” she chokes out. “I… I have a bad headache.”
“She gets them sometimes,” Blaire explains.
“Can we go, please?” Nevaeh pleads, meeting my eyes with her tear-filled ones.
“Of course.” I wrap my arms around her, and without saying goodbye to anyone, walk us out to my car. I vaguely hear her mother bitching behind us, but my only focus is on Nevaeh and getting her home to rest.
She falls asleep on the way home and doesn’t wake up once—not when I carry her up to her room and lay her in my bed, or when I remove her heels and pull the blanket up to cover her.
While she sleeps, I begin my search on Felix, putting feelers out to all of the major players, requesting meetings with my contacts. Someone has to know who he is and where he can be found. I don’t care what it takes, I’m going to find this asshole and shut him down—permanently. As much as I love Nevaeh being holed up in this house with me, I would prefer her to be with me of her own free will, and not because her staying alive depends on it.
Nevaeh
“Morning, beautiful,” Ethan says as I sit up and take in my surroundings. The last thing I remember is getting a headache and then falling asleep in his car.
“Hey,” I croak out, my voice gravelly from sleep. “What time is it?”
“Nine o’clock.” He closes his laptop and places it on the windowsill before standing and walking over to me.
“In the morning?” I glance out the window and it’s pitch-black.
“No, at night. You slept the afternoon away. How are you feeling?”
“Okay,” I tell him truthfully. The headache is gone, and I’m glad the funeral is over and we were able to get a bit of closure—even if the lie about how he died is all anybody will ever know.
“I hate to do this to you, but I need to go to the club tonight. I’ve recently had some issues with drugs and have done a complete overhaul with employment. I need to make my presence known so they know who is in charge.” He runs the backs of his knuckles down my cheek, and I close my eyes, relishing in his touch.