Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 164705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
We’d decided to go clay shooting in the woods, as if nothing had happened last night. As if he hadn’t almost drowned me, and I hadn’t dished out some hard truths he refused to swallow.
Thursday, every other week, marked the only time Seb got out of the house during daylight. He knew how important it was to me. I’d drag him out the backdoor, kicking and screaming, if I had to.
It lined up well. No one would see him. I always made sure of it. My house manager fixed up the schedule so none of the staff would be here, and the security team kept a wider perimeter. Zach and Farrow shared fencing lessons until late into the evening, Romeo would be at work, and Dallas and Luca attended a Mommy-and-Me swim class for babies. Coast crystal clear.
Seb forced me into making it an entire procedure, too. I had to maneuver the eight-seater golf cart into the woods while Sebastian, swathed in dark clothes, laid on the floor of the back bench.
In the end, it was worth it.
I wanted the sun on his skin and the fresh air in his lungs.
The clay pigeon trap spat more orange discs into the air. They swirled round and round across the blue sky.
“I’m a great aim, and you know it.” I adjusted my noise cancelling headphones, aiming at one and missing it by at least three inches.
Sebastian snorted next to me, shaking his head. We both wore classic hunting attire in various shades of shit brown.
“Prove it,” he challenged. “You haven’t had one bull’s eye all morning.”
Actually, I hadn’t lied.
I could shoot as well as he could – and he never missed.
But this morning, my head wasn’t in the game. It was with Briar, back at home. Questions I had no business thinking swarmed my brain: what she was doing, how she was settling in, how I could make her stay.
She still hated me – or at least, she convinced herself she hated me – but I was determined to change that.
Another orange disc flew in the air. Seb’s turn. A clean shot. The disc snapped into two and landed on the ground with a thud. Another disc flew in the air, this time for me.
I missed again.
“Alright. What’s going on?” He turned to me. “You suck, but not this badly. Did you tire yourself out through masturbation? Everyone knows you have to switch hands every now and then. Rookie mistake.”
Hmm … A theory I hadn’t considered. Certainly a possibility. I’d relieved myself after texting with Briar. A few times after that, too. Basically, I hadn’t slept all night.
“Briar came back to live here for three more months.” I reloaded the shotgun with shells. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Why would I mind? I never leave my wing, anyway,” he said flatly. Too quickly. Sebastian always minded. He wouldn’t even let our parents see him. “What made her come back?”
“Probably the fact that I canceled her lease and sold her car, and she saw an in to try to drive me nuts.” I palmed the back of my neck, still perplexed about it, but not enough to push the subject. I wanted her here. It gave me a weird sense of peace. “I like her, Seb.”
I held my breath, waiting for him to bring up the vow from fifteen years ago.
“So, win her back.”
I sagged forward, slumping against a tree trunk. “She doesn’t want to be won.”
“That would make winning her so much sweeter.”
It wasn’t that simple, though.
I changed the subject. “Hey, have you spoken to Mom and Dad?”
Mom called Sebastian every day. Dad did every week. They sent food and treats. Their dream was to see him escape his wing and go out and about again. It only added to the already debilitating guilt I felt every time I thought about it.
“Yeah.” Seb yawned. “Mom said she’ll drop off some of her blueberry scones sometime today.”
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Blueberry scones were Seb’s favorite. I couldn’t remember the last time she’d made my favorite pastry. My parents maintained that they weren’t mad at me for what happened, but their behavior told a different story.
“That’s nice. I’m going there next week for dinner. Wanna come?” I elbowed his rib, chuckling. “You can hide in the trunk of the Escalade. It can probably house three more people.”
It wasn’t like my parents hadn’t seen Sebastian’s current face. They had. Seb just didn’t like it. Mom always ended up crying over her favorite son’s tainted face, and Dad couldn’t maintain eye contact with him. I hated them for that. Hated that they couldn’t be strong for him like I was.
Sebastian walked over to one of the clay pigeon traps. “I think I’ll sit this one out.”
“You sit everything out,” I growled.
“Yeah, well.” He squatted down and reloaded it with dozens of clay discs. “Cardio sucks, and I love resting.”