Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 85228 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85228 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
"I'm just worried about you and the kids."
"I'm not here to talk about the kids," he says, his agitation spiking again. "I want a fresh start."
"I understand how scary that can be," I cajole. "How are things at work?"
His eyes narrow, and it seems he has had trouble there as well.
My mind races to think of an area of his life that would not be causing him so much irritation, but my focus was on the kids when I was working with the family, despite how often he tried to interject into those conversations.
"Tough break on the Chiefs losing the Superbowl this year," I hedge, but his scowl deepens. I opt for a different approach. "What kind of changes are you looking to make in your life, Miles?"
"A new job in a new city," he says, his eyes a little distant as if he's trying to picture exactly what that would look like. "How do you feel about something on the West Coast? Sunshine almost year-round and the threat of snow almost impossible."
I do my best to maintain my smile as he just confirms what I was suspecting. The man's obsession has led him here because he wants us to be together.
"I've never been out west," I say, hoping the men outside are coming up with some sort of plan to get this man out of my house and into an institution where he can be evaluated and given proper treatment. "Are you thinking the Bay Area or maybe something a little further north?"
He shrugs. "It depends on what you'd like."
"I don't think I could leave Gatlinburg without Kiva. I'd be too heartbroken and devastated if something bad happened to her outside in the cold."
He pulls in a deep breath before grabbing the gun off his lap and standing. He's only a few feet from the back door when the front door busts open, hitting the wall behind it so hard the doorknob sticks in the drywall.
A man in full combat gear stands there with a massive-looking rifle pointed right at Miles.
"Please don't!" I yell.
The man is in crisis, but that doesn't mean he deserves to die.
Miles looks between the two of us, gun trembling in his hand as if he never considered something like this could happen.
I watch as sadness and resolve cover his face.
"We were always meant to be together," he says to me, ignoring the man with the rifle pointed at him. "I'll love you forever."
I watch in horror as Miles Lee lifts the gun, puts it to his temple, and pulls the trigger.
Chapter 36
Jersey
Watching Hemlock go into the house fully geared up as if he were facing a team of terrorists is harder than I even imagined. And believe me, I was livid when he told me that I was too close to Caitlyn to be the one to make entry. He claimed my mind would be clouded, and it could lead to mistakes, something terrible I'd never forgive myself for.
I know he is right, but watching his back as he just stands in the doorway is even harder.
Why hasn't he shot that motherfucker yet?
Then... one gunshot.
Followed by the most horrific scream I've ever heard. The sound of it has the power to invade my nightmares for the rest of my life. It's reminiscent of one of the versions of the nightmares I already have where Eden is screaming for me to save the boys before blaming me for everything that went wrong in their lives.
I've never heard such pain and anguish while awake.
Lark tries to stop me, but instead of waiting to see what's going on inside, I shrug out of my leather jacket, leaving him holding it as I make my way to the front porch.
I enter the home, my eyes scanning the situation quickly.
The man who was holding her hostage is in the middle of the kitchen with a self-inflicted gunshot to the head, his brain matter and blood sprayed all over the counter where Caitlyn and I spent a morning not long ago, and I hate the sight of anything of him tainting anything of us.
My eyes then find Hemlock crouched low in front of Caitlyn, his rifle on the floor. He's close, but he's not touching her. I'm grateful that the man did not insert himself too far into her personal space, which would make her even more uncomfortable.
"Caitlyn," I whisper, drawing her eyes up to me, and Hemlock stands, removing himself from in front of her just in time for me to drop to my knees and pull her against my chest.
Instead of staying situated with her line of sight over my shoulder and in the direction of the body, I lift her easily and sit down on the sofa with her in my lap.
Her sobs dampen my shirt, but nothing compares to the warmth of her in my arms.