Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84227 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84227 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
I went over to where my dresser still stood in the corner, the top drawer missing and the front of another one broken off. Scooting it aside, I fumbled with the third slat of wood flooring, which lifted easily, then pulled the gloves on my hands up tighter.
The metal tin was still inside. I didn’t know why I never took it when I moved out. Partly, I thought, because I wanted to leave old memories and wishes behind. I’d wanted to stand on my own without hoping for things that wouldn’t be. When I moved out, even though I was still in Havenwood at first, it was my goodbye to my old life, and I’d been determined to become a new Chase Hawthorne.
I sat down and opened it. Spiderman was on the front. Inside there was a photo of me, Mom, and Dad…and we were all smiling. It was the only photo I had of all of us, and it sure as shit was the only one where we were happy. We’d taken it at the lake cabin in North Carolina the one time we went. Mom had asked the neighbor at the nearest cabin to take it for us. It was right before she left. Now I knew that she’d likely already decided to go, that she’d already made the decision to walk away and leave me with him. There was a chance I was wrong, of course, but I didn’t believe that.
At the time I’d been…happy.
Setting the photo down, I looked at the other items. There was a small journal inside. I hadn’t written in it much. That had never been my thing, but there were about ten entries—one the day I met Griff, another when he called me his best friend for the first time, one when his parents threw me a small birthday party at their house and Susan made me a cake. One about Kellan, how I’d gone to their house after a bad day and Griff hadn’t been home. I’d written about him being an annoying kid, but then about how he made me laugh…and how when I left, I’d felt better. I’d called it his Twerp Superpower, and said it had worked its magic on me. He was still working his magic on me.
And at the bottom of the box was a sketch…one Kellan had drawn. It was of me. Griffin and I had gotten home, and he’d been at the table. His eyes had gone wide when we came in, and he’d crumpled up whatever he’d been working on and tossed it into the trash.
Later that day I’d seen it there, on the floor behind the can. He’d obviously missed when he’d thrown it. I didn’t know what made me grab it, smooth it out, and look, but I had, and it made me feel…good. Like I meant something. Like I was important enough that he would choose to sketch me.
Fucking Kellan Caine. It was always meant to be me and him. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind about that, even though it had taken me too long to see it.
Closing the tin box, I tucked it under my arm and stood up, then put the board back and pushed the dresser into place.
I had no business being in this house. Except for the box, I couldn’t say exactly why I’d come, what I hoped to find. I knew the sitting around and waiting was killing me. The not knowing was gnawing through my thoughts, into my muscles, making its way to my bones. If there was anything here, any proof of anything, I knew it wouldn’t be admissible in court, but still I hadn’t been able to stop myself from coming.
Trying not to disturb things too much, I looked around, riffled through boxes, and just…hoped to get lucky. I didn’t know if that meant finding proof of a list of crimes that could belong to my father, or hoping that I didn’t find anything.
When nothing jumped at me in that room, I went to the living room, then the dining room. They were all similar to my old bedroom—full of old crap and projects and boxes.
My stomach was heavy as I made my way to my father’s room. I didn’t know why I had saved that one for last. The idea of being in his space didn’t sit well with me, but I was losing my damned mind.
It was crazy how fast I found it. All it took was opening the drawer on my dad’s messy nightstand to see the ring sitting there like…like nothing. Like it hadn’t meant the world to Susan Caine. Like it hadn’t represented her marriage to Robert. Like it hadn’t been on her finger when she was killed yet missing when she’d been found.
The room began to spin. Nausea ate at me, and my eyes blurred. I stumbled, knocking things down, running into others. I almost didn’t make it to the toilet before I lost everything in my gut, vomited and cried, screamed and wailed. My whole body was shaking. My chest hurt, and my heart crumbled.