Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 123155 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 616(@200wpm)___ 493(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123155 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 616(@200wpm)___ 493(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
“If you didn’t,” he pointed out, a small smile playing on his lips, “you wouldn’t forgive people so easily.”
“I don’t,” I replied stubbornly. “I hold grudges forever.”
“Bullshit,” he said with a laugh. “How many times did you make nice after hearing someone say shit about you at the club? A hundred? A million?”
“Making nice isn’t the same as forgiving.”
“Fine,” he said raising a hand in surrender. “You’re a monster and I don’t even want to sit by you.”
He stared at me expectantly.
“You can get up, then,” I said, pulling my feet up so I could curl my legs under me. “I’m comfortable here.”
He grinned wide. “You’re a pain in the ass.”
“You dig it,” I replied drolly.
“Jesus,” he said, shaking his head. “I do. What the fuck is wrong with me?”
“You two done flirting?” my mom asked, strolling into the room. “Because that recliner is calling my name.”
“Is it?” I asked, watching her fall dramatically into the chair.
“Yes,” she replied, kicking her feet up. “Farrah,” she called breathily. “Farrah, come sit on me.”
“Is it just me, or does that sound faintly pornographic?” I asked Mark.
“I was trying to ignore it,” he whispered back.
“Whispers don’t make friends, Woody,” my mom called, her eyes closed. “Share with the class.”
“I need to piss,” he said, handing Olive to me.
“Coward,” I called after him as he practically ran out the front door.
“Why is it that men cannot pee inside?” my mom asked, her eyes still closed. “Are they like dogs, always needing to mark their territory?”
“Actually,” Eli said from the kitchen, “someone blew up the bathroom. I wouldn’t advise going in there.”
“New question,” my mom said with a sigh. “Why are men so disgusting?”
“Well—” Eli drew the word out.
“Shut it, Eli,” me and Mom both called at the same time.
She opened her eyes and grinned at me. “Mini-me.”
I snorted.
“I think this is going to work, you know,” my mom said, her voice growing serious. “But even if it doesn’t, that man will never get anywhere near you and Olive again.”
“You can’t be sure of that,” I replied.
“If I have to, I’ll kill that motherfucker myself,” she said with quiet intensity.
The chair protested with a loud screech as she abruptly sat forward, kicking the leg rest back into place.
“Dad would never let you anywhere near him,” I said, giving her a crooked smile. “But thank you.”
“I’ll always protect you with everything I have,” she said, holding my gaze. “And if ever there’s a time when one of us isn’t there to help you—you know what to do. Don’t hesitate, Cecilia. Not for a second.”
I swallowed hard. When I was a baby, Cam’s biological dad had kidnapped us and drove us into the mountains with some batshit crazy idea of making us his family. There was a whole lot of other things happening behind the scenes, but bottom line, he’d lost his mind. The pistol my mom kept in my diaper bag was the only thing that had saved us. Well, that and my big brother, who’d been the one to use it. My mom had grabbed Cam, picked me up, and walked miles back down the mountain until the police found us. From then on, Cam was a part of our family. Legend was that she’d thrown herself in front of my big brother when the cops had drawn their weapons, literally shielding him with her body while threatening the men with complete annihilation. I didn’t know if it had happened exactly like that, though. In deference to Cam and the impossible decision he’d had to make—my parents rarely spoke about it.
Afterward, my mom had never again went anywhere without a handgun in her purse, not even the grocery store—and she’d passed on that habit to me.
“Did you know that someday, I’d need to know how to shoot?” I asked curiously as Olive began to fuss.
“I prayed you wouldn’t,” my mom said. “What’s that saying? Hope for the best, prepare for the worst.”
“I hate that saying.”
“Everyone hates that saying,” she said, kicking back in the chair again. “No one wants to prepare for something bad to happen.” She closed her eyes and made a shooing motion with her hand. “Go feed your child, she’s starving.”
“You’re not starving,” I mumbled to Olive as I carried her into the bedroom.
The next few hours passed so slow that it felt like days. On top of worrying that Drake Warren would find us, I now had the added worry that his group of skinhead pals were going to be searching for us, too. While we waited for news from Wilson, I watched everyone act like they weren’t trying to find things to pass the time. The almost two weeks we’d been in the house, my group of protectors had been vigilant, but I’d also noticed that they’d used the time to unwind a bit from their hectic lives. Lu did yoga every morning. Forrest read through Poet’s fully stocked bookshelf. Eli hung a portable hammock from the deck railings and laid in there for hours. My brother tinkered with his bike. My mom and dad went for walks along the beach—holding hands. And Mark kicked back in the recliner and held Olive, sometimes for hours.