Total pages in book: 187
Estimated words: 188957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 945(@200wpm)___ 756(@250wpm)___ 630(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 188957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 945(@200wpm)___ 756(@250wpm)___ 630(@300wpm)
He said a lot of other things but I didn’t hear any of them.
I was stuck on the friends part for some reason.
That he was my mom’s sort of friend.
Who stands before me in the pouring rain right now like a dark, blurry silhouette.
“You,” I say, seething.
“Me,” he says, quite casually but still making my heart jump in my chest again. “Although I wasn’t sure you’d be able to recognize me. Since you can’t really see.”
“I can see,” I say immediately, even though I can’t.
It was important.
Now that he’s here, I can’t let any weakness show.
I need to be strong and confident.
“No, you can’t,” he counters. Then he raises his hand, his fingers clutched around something. “Not without these.”
I squint to see what he’s holding — damn it — and after a second or two, with a lot of squinting, I make it out.
My glasses.
He’s got my glasses.
I glare at him. “How did you… Did you go into my room?”
He lowers his hand and says, “Yes.”
I gasp then, still glaring and still mostly blind. “Oh my God. How creepy. That’s my room. Hello? You’re not supposed to go into my room without my permission.”
I can’t be sure but I think he shrugs.
“First, that’s my room,” he begins. “Because every room in this house is my room. So I don’t really need your or anyone’s permission. And second, you weren’t there to not give me permission.”
I keep glaring. “Give them back.”
“Sure.” Then, “Would you like this too?”
By this, he means the umbrella.
He’s holding an umbrella. Which for some reason I’m only noticing now.
It’s a big blurry blob to my eyes and the sight of it also makes me realize that unlike me, he’s all neat and dry.
Damn it.
I want to be the one who’s neat and dry. I want to be the one who can see clearly. But the thought of accepting any help from him makes me want to vomit. So I weigh my options and say, “I don’t want your stupid umbrella. Just give me back my glasses.”
“All right,” he says casually. “I will say, however, that I don’t think glasses and rain go well together. But given that I’ve never used them — excellent eyesight — don’t take my word for it.”
I glare harder.
Because he is right.
The rain and glasses don’t go well together. So the smart thing to do would be to accept his offer. And as much as I hate it, I do; I need all my bearings and all my senses sharp and intact.
“Fine,” I bite out.
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and walk up to him, somehow feeling every drop of rain that hits my body. Something that I’d grown immune to after standing here for however long.
A few steps in, he comes into focus.
His chest, at first.
It goes from being fuzzy to sharply defined. Dense and solid. Massive under his dark shirt with gleaming white buttons.
Then his shoulders. They also become sharp and distinct. Muscled and impossibly broad under that tweed jacket that he still has on, in the middle of the night.
He’s also wearing a tie.
Still crisp and perfectly knotted as it usually is, first thing in the morning when he leaves for work.
And then come his hands, or one hand that’s holding the umbrella; his other hand is in his pocket.
When I can see his fingers, clearly and individually, wrapped around the stick, I come to a stop. Because I’ve gotten close enough.
I reach out my hand then, ready to accept his offerings.
First he hands me over the umbrella.
Which I make sure to hold at a distance from his very manly-looking fingers.
And then the glasses.
Which I also make sure to grab from him in a way that our fingers don’t touch.
And finally, the rain stops beating at my body and I can see.
I can see everything.
The raindrops. The black night. And him.
My new guardian.
Alaric Rule Marshall.
Not the boring older brother or the father or the grandfather of my actual guardian. The son.
My mom’s sort of friend.
“What about you?” I ask.
He’s only been in the rain for a couple of seconds but he’s already drenched. His clothes are already plastered to his body, showcasing exactly how big he is. How large. Larger than I thought.
“I’ll be fine.” Then, “So what’s the plan?”
“What plan?”
“Are you running away to New York tonight? If so, I’d advise waiting for the rain to stop first.”
Okay, I’m going to say it. I hate his voice.
I hate how good it sounds, all deep and smooth and quiet.
Even when he’s mocking me.
“So what, it’s not enough to scare the bejesus out of me by appearing out of nowhere?” I say, narrowing my eyes up at him. “You were also eavesdropping?”
His eyes gleam as he says, “The words you’re looking for are thank you. Because if I hadn’t eavesdropped on your plan, I wouldn’t have been able to give you a very vital piece of information.”