Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 65335 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 327(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 218(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65335 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 327(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 218(@300wpm)
My lifestyle. Myself.
Does she think everything I told her was a lie? She knew there were things. She knew that. It wasn’t like anyone was lying to her, but still. What we do is dangerous. If something happened to Cass, I would never forgive myself.
My palms flex and cramp against the wheel. We’re almost at Cass’ place and neither of us has said another word. I’m breaking apart inside. I have this feeling now, and it’s telling me that I would do anything to protect Cass, but maybe that anything means leaving and not getting involved with her in the first place. Is it selfish to want to stay? I don’t actually know, and that sucks so much more than any poo in a jar.
Cass’ palm comes to rest on my shoulder as soon as I pull up in front of her place. She left a light on in the living room, and the golden glow looks homey and sweet behind the closed blinds at the tiny bay window.
“Hey,” she whispers. “Don’t black out on me too.”
I know what she means. Don’t fall into my being. Don’t go into that abyss. It kills me that she’s the one reassuring me when I should be the one offering her comfort and all the explanations right now. If that were Granny telling me not to black out, it would be because she knows that sometimes I need to go off-grid, just take some time and disappear and get lost in myself to understand what the hell is going on in my own head, but Cass would never understand that. Sometimes I just need the silence in my own head.
“Do you want to come in?” Cass tries again. “I could make us some tea.”
Can’t honestly say I’ve ever had tea in my life, but I owe this to her. I owe it to her to answer her questions and give her a proper goodbye if that’s what it takes. It might very well be because earlier, she freaking passed out. How did I ever think this could be a thing? Us? Cass is far, far too sweet for this life. On the flip side, I know I can’t do this forever. It would feel like living worse than a lie. I like my real life. The life with Granny and my brothers. What I’m doing right now with the pawnshop and the condo? That’s part of my mission, and that mission might not even be real. Cass was an unexpected loophole in that, but she’s real, even if everything else is fake.
“Lennox?”
I shake my head, but then I nod quickly. “Yeah, sure. Tea. Great.”
Cass’ face is instantly worried, and I feel like the worst tool in the shed. Looking at her huge, perfect blue eyes, I feel like I could do this forever. Be with her, be normal, live a regular life, and do what Alden did and get out of the game, or even what Ransom did and get out and start a family. I feel it, but at the same time, I know I can’t. I can’t do normal, and I can’t get a nine-to-five job like everyone else. It would kill me. I’m not trained for that. I can’t do it. And what would that mean for Cass?
I bail out of the car before I can self-destruct right there on the spot. I force a smile and follow Cass to the door. She unlocks it, and as soon as we step in, I’m immediately on the alert, just out of habit, for anything out of the ordinary. The condo is totally silent, the lights are on, and everything is as it should be—nice, homey, and cheerful.
“Um, kitchen?” Cass asks.
I nod. I’m being silent. Broody. I’m already shutting down, and she can tell. She tries to pretend she’s okay with that, but I can see the sheen of moisture in her eyes before she tears them away from my face and walks toward the back of the condo to the small kitchen.
I follow, taking in all the details that scream Cass. The jar candles, the antique furniture, the vintage paintings on the walls, the knitted afghans. The place isn’t sleek and modern. It’s got a lived-in look, and all the things were chosen with care to add color and life and vibrancy.
“Cherry or gingerbread?” Cass is holding up two boxes of tea, one in each hand. Her cheeks have a bit of their color back, and she looks like she’s going to be okay.
Even so, I still can’t breathe. “Gingerbread,” I force out, even though I hate cinnamon-flavored anything. Cherry feels too much like the first night I met Cass when we had cherry pie and fries ordered from a drive-thru because I was scared that she’d bolt if we went in anywhere.