Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 81986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
The promise stung as much as the apology. Worth knew I didn’t trust him not to self-harm. He’d been working so damn hard on his recovery, but I hadn’t given him the gift of my trust. No, I’d let my fears lead.
And now I was losing him. The defeat was clear in his words. Earlier, I’d been so angry that he wouldn’t fight for us, but now I was more sad. And mad, but at myself, because I’d wanted him to fight without truly being willing to do the same.
Meow. Yow. Raoooow. Pacing the length of the kitchen, Delilah yowled her fool head off. Her feline tone was nothing short of scolding, and under other circumstances, I would have laughed.
“I know. I miss them too,” I said to the empty room. My gaze landed on a spiral-bound book near Worth’s note. His mom’s recipe book from the church fundraiser. Someone had put a sticky note by the oatmeal cranberry cookies.
I lacked dried cranberries but had everything else, including some chocolate chips. Lacking for any better ideas, I whipped up a batch while Delilah continued to make her kitty disapproval known.
Creak. I kept startling at every sound, whirling around to find nothing but the same empty old house. I’d been the one with the dreams, but Worth had made them seem possible. Worth who’d made this a home.
Oh. I lined up the cookies to cool. The evening light was starting to shift. The late summer sun would set soon, but there were no guarantees Worth would return by nightfall.
Wait. Why was I waiting for Worth to come back to me? What if he didn’t? What if he simply kept on driving?
No. I couldn’t bear that thought. I put some warm cookies onto a little plate and headed for my old rattletrap car. It was time to fight for what truly mattered.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Worth
I needed my dog. I had no clue what I was doing or where I was going after I left the coffee house, but I needed Buttercup. She, at least, was delighted to see me. Her adorable sheltie friskiness wasn’t enough to coax a smile from me, which only made her try that much harder. She brought me her seldom-used chew toys as well as a tennis ball Sam had been using to teach her to fetch.
Sam. Funny how a few weeks ago, I would have said this house was so filled with old memories, nothing could ever squeeze them out. But now I looked around and saw Sam everywhere. Sam in the backyard throwing the tennis ball for an ambivalent Buttercup. Sam in the kitchen making me tea and toast. Sam in the living room, sprawled on that ugly couch, and Sam all over the third floor, making the attic into an oasis. And on the second floor, I saw his dreams. His hopes. The family he wanted to grow here, the kids he wanted to rescue, the life he wanted to build.
How could I take him away from all that?
How could I stay?
I simply didn’t know, but I also couldn’t remain in the empty house for another moment, my restlessness driving me toward my car with no real purpose in mind other than needing to get away from everything. Sam. Memories. Future worries. All of it. I pointed the car toward Portland, but I only made it a couple of miles outside Safe Harbor before I spotted two grubby teen boys walking on the opposite side of the road, half-heartedly attempting to hitch from the passing traffic.
I drove past, but Sam’s face when he talked about Sienna hung in my mind. Those boys were someone’s kids, and while they weren’t toddlers, they were way too young and stupid to be trying to hitch rides. The long list of potential dangers had me slowing down, doing a U-turn, and heading back to carefully pull even with the duo.
“You need a ride into Safe Harbor?” I asked, studying them closely. If they refused, I’d call the non-emergency police line to see if an officer could do a welfare check. Blond with skinny limbs and big joints, they looked vaguely familiar in matching faded jeans and gamer T-shirts. They were definitely brothers, and their similar heights made twins a fair guess. But where had I seen them around? Coffee shop? Church?
“I know you.” One of them stepped closer to the car. “Seen this hotrod parked at the haunted house.”
“Ronan,” the other boy said urgently. “It’s not haunted anymore.”
“Once haunted, always haunted.” Ronan shrugged. Seeing as I’d argued that point with Sam not an hour earlier, I was inclined to agree. Ronan turned back to me. “And you were at church Sunday. Mom made us go.”
“Where’s your mom now?”
“Working. She’s a nurse at urgent care. You gonna call her?” Ronan asked warily.
“I should. But I can run you back into town.” I motioned at the backseat. “Get in. What are you boys doing hitchhiking anyway? It’s dangerous.”