Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 169305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 847(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 169305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 847(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
I feared she’d go into early labor. Already, Romeo looked ready to hang me from the rooftop. He swept her into his arms, rubbing her back.
“Thank God you’re not sad-crying.” She disconnected from Romeo, clutched her purse from my kitchen island—just the thought made me want to break into a dance, my kitchen island—and grabbed an unopened pack of dish towels, patting her eyes dry. “The food truck downstairs closes in less than an hour. I thought I wouldn’t make it. Did you know they sell fresh fettuccine cooked in a wheel of Parmesan cheese? Is there anything else you need from us?”
I laughed, shaking my head, wondering whether she’d cried over my tears or the thought of missing food. “Enjoy the bowl of fettuccine, babe.”
“A bowl?” She rolled her eyes. “I plan on buying the entire wheel. I’ve been craving carbs so badly this trimester.”
Then, she and the boys took off in a flurry of air kisses, grumbles, and dirty jokes.
Dallas Costa, ladies and gentlemen.
The human answer to the sweetest summer day.
With a sigh, I locked the door, padded over to my new fridge, and cracked open a soda can, settling on my hideous yet adorable yellow-and-purple checkered couch. My favorite thrift find.
I scrolled through my old laptop, checking emails.
First—Reggie and Tabby begged me to accept a low-ball offer on the home. They’d moved from the motel to a distant aunt’s in West Virginia and wanted out ASAP.
Next—I accepted an easy job with an old client under Maid in Maryland. The two employees Vera hadn’t fired needed steady work, so I kept the company while I figured out what I wanted to do with it.
And finally—I opened an email from a stranger, Googling the sender name. An unranked fencer, who wanted to compete nationally.
He’d heard through the grapevine that Anna had topped her bracket in her last competition and figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask for help.
I grinned, flattered, typing out my reply.
A big, fat, bolded, italicized YES.
I was beginning a new life.
One I’d started on my own from scratch.
One I loved.
And yet, the shoe box stacked in the corner haunted me. Weeks ago, Romeo and Oliver had gathered my things from Zach’s, noting he’d kept them in my room. Which meant he hadn’t meant what I’d thought he’d meant when he said he’d left my stuff in the garage.
And still… I feared what secrets the key held.
Because I’d given Zach a key, too.
The one to my heart.
T-MINUS 5 DAYS.
The countdown loomed over me like a guillotine.
Each day I couldn’t find Eileen brought me further from the calm, collected, and ruthless man I once prided myself in being.
I’d exhausted all my options. The four private investigators I’d hired had come up short. All of Eileen’s relatives refused to give up her location (despite numerous threats).
And Mom? Guantanamo wouldn’t stand a chance at prying info from her lips.
On the twenty-fifth day without Farrow, I decided I’d had enough of being miserable in the comfort of my thermostat-controlled home and dragged my pathetic self into the cryochamber, where I could be comfortable with half-frozen balls.
Did Farrow even cure you? I started to reason with myself. Surely, she is not St. Anthony, capable of miracles. Nor Bian Que. Or even Fu Xing.
No. A sit-down in the ice room would deliver cognitive clarity. And prove that I hadn’t changed. That I still felt absolutely nothing. Not even the cold.
I hadn’t entered the chamber in almost four weeks, but I still notched the temperature to advanced.
I stepped inside in my robe, immediately hit with the sharp bite of frost eating at my skin.
Well, shit.
“What on earth…” I hissed out, closing the door behind me as white smoke curled around my limbs, climbing up my body like ivy.
My vision fogged. I turned around to the overhead digital clock to see how much time had passed.
One second.
One fucking second.
Was this a joke?
I shivered, realizing to my dismay that I was feeling cold. That I was feeling, period.
My nose became numb, too frozen to properly inhale. I had to cup it with my palms, quivering violently as I shuffled from leg to leg.
I felt cold.
In pain.
Alive.
The seconds ticked by at an excruciating pace. I started jumping up and down, doing a few squats to fight the freeze.
I finally understood why Romeo and Oliver became restless as soon as they entered.
Finally, when the buzzer sounded after the three minutes passed, I staggered to the door and pushed.
It did not open.
I gave it a good shove with my shoulder, using momentum that would usually send it hurling, knocking over the wall. It didn’t budge.
Potent, hot panic sliced into me.
The human body wasn’t designed to endure this temperature for longer than nine—maybe ten—minutes.
I’d already reached four.
I walked backwards, gaining momentum, ran toward the door, and delivered a roundhouse kick. Still nothing.