Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 173392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 694(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 173392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 694(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
They won’t be deterred forever, though. They’ve been fucking with us since their ship landed.
“Thank you.” I inhale her fruity body spray, and stare at her neon purple lips. “You’re good at this.”
“At what?”
I shake my head, trying to find the words. “At … being a friend.”
She smiles, a gorgeous light hitting her eyes. “Thank you.”
Sweet and sincere, she says it as if it’s the best compliment she’s ever gotten. She circles her arms around my neck, hugging me tight.
“But I still don’t want you to do it again,” I say as she holds me. “Milo, I mean. He will hurt you. Every time.”
“Okay,” she agrees, and I like how quickly she does it. “I won’t do it again.”
Not sure if I believe her, but I hope she involves me quicker the next time she decides to take matters into her own hands.
I keep holding her, people passing by, the music pumping, and there’s no way in hell I’m dancing, but there’s no way I’m leaving her here, either. Not with him.
“I’m too old for this party,” I say.
I have to be the oldest person here.
She pulls back, her smile softening. “Me, too.”
She keeps one arm around me and pulls out her bun with the other.
“But if I tell them to get out,” she states, “Trace and Dallas will hear Milo beating the walls of the pantry. And you know what happens then.”
Her chestnut-brown hair spills down around her, but I can barely focus with the heat between her legs pressed against my stomach.
“So how long should we wait?” I play along.
“Until the rain starts.”
The cops won’t let anyone in the Bay who doesn’t belong there after that point.
“So what should we do?” I ask.
“I think it looks like we’re doing something now.”
I tighten my grip on her thighs, Krisjen pressing her body into mine, and déjà vu floods my head, and I’m warm all over. God, she feels good.
“Why doesn’t Dallas like me?” she asks.
I narrow my eyes. “Do you want him to?”
“Of course.”
The quickness of her reply surprises me almost as much as the answer.
“I mean, I’ll live if he doesn’t,” she’s quick to point out, “but I hope I know you forever. It’ll make it a lot easier if he stops trying to pick fights. What’s his problem?”
“It’s not you,” I tell her. “He’s been like that for a long time.”
Albeit worse the past year or so. He’s been intolerant, short-tempered, and pissy for years, but I’ll admit, he’s pretty fucking awful to Krisjen. I’m not sure why.
“Our parents died at the wrong age for Dallas,” I tell her. “He was fourteen—too young to be treated like a man, and too old to be protected like a kid. Macon didn’t know what to do with him. Neither did I. He just … He wanted to be alone a lot, and we let him.” I pause. “We shouldn’t have.”
We had other things to worry about. It was easier to be lazy about it and hope that whatever was eating him sorted itself out.
“I don’t think Macon would know what to do differently even if he could go back,” I admit.
“And you?” She cocks her head. “How were you doing then? You were only what, twenty?”
I hesitate. I don’t like these questions.
But it’s nice to be asked. Liv, Dallas, and Trace were too young, and I never wanted Macon to worry about me. He had enough.
“When you’re tested,” I tell her, “you find out exactly what you’re capable of, and what you’re not.” Those are the same words I said to Trace not even an hour ago, but I didn’t explain what I meant, and he didn’t ask. I clear my throat. “A few months after it all happened, Macon and I were struggling to keep everything going. People in the Bay needed help, and we could barely feed the kids in our own house. Customers had taken their business elsewhere when my father died, and St. Carmen was breathing down our necks. We were going to lose the land any day.” I hold her eyes. “They were hitting us while we were down.”
Her eyes search mine, and I can see the concern etched on her brow. She knows this story isn’t going anywhere good.
“We were finishing up at this house,” I continue, “doing their landscaping shit. It was late. And I remember wondering why they had asked us to come so late in the day. That house was usually early in our rotation on the first of every month.”
Someone squeals, but I don’t look. I don’t even see the party anymore.
“The husband called us inside,” I tell her, “made small talk. Macon just wanted to leave.” I breathe out a weak laugh, realizing how he hasn’t changed. “Then he asked us.”
She goes still, waiting for me to say it.