Total pages in book: 213
Estimated words: 202770 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1014(@200wpm)___ 811(@250wpm)___ 676(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 202770 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1014(@200wpm)___ 811(@250wpm)___ 676(@300wpm)
“Ah well, there he is. The other brother.”
“Who are you?” I demand.
Emma stirs beside me and turns over, and for reasons I could explain but don’t want to, that memory has me wrapping myself around her and holding her tightly. There are things I haven’t told her. There are things I have to tell her. Things that I set aside as unimportant, but I’m not so sure that’s the case anymore. The problem is that I know a whole lot less than I need to know about those things to ensure they don’t place her in danger. If silence would protect her, I’d stay silent, but in this case, that old saying “what she doesn’t know can’t hurt her” might not be true. That’s not a risk I can take.
Chapter fifty-three
Jax
At some point, I fall asleep, only to wake to the dawn of a new day teasing the skylight above the bed. My nature alarm clock. I reach for the remote on the nightstand, sealing the skylight as to not wake Emma, but it’s too late for me. I’m awake and my mind is already working, which takes me no place that encourages sleep. The only reason I stay in that bed is because Emma’s snuggled close to me, but she’s also the reason I need to get up. I need to deal with my brother. I nuzzle her hair, drawing in the sweet floral scent that I can’t name, but if I could drown in it and her, I’d die a happy man.
I force myself to ease her off of me, and she sinks into my pillow, not her own, never opening her eyes. Despite the incident with my brother last night, she’s relaxed, she feels safe, and that’s not about the castle. That’s about me, that’s about us, and how damn well we connect. I inhale again, and this time, I take in the scent that is part cedar from the giant pillars surrounding the bed and Emma. Don’t ask me how two things mesh so well, but they do. I could get used to this pairing. I could wake up to it every day, but of course, she lives in San Francisco, and I live here in Maine. Not to mention that she’s a Knight and I’m a North. And while the names don’t matter to me, and I know they don’t to her, nothing about the two of us together is as simple as what I want or what she wants it to be.
Because we are the sum of lies.
Lies we didn’t tell.
Lies we tell ourselves if we say the history between our families doesn’t matter. Hell, I lied, too. I lied to Emma and to myself. My hands settle on my hips as I contemplate the cutting reality of that silent confession. My reasons for seeking out Emma didn’t end just because I’ve decided I need her in my life. I went to her seeking closure. I was looking for an ending, besides my brother’s death, that I will never believe was suicide. I don’t even know what that means or where it leads any of us, but what I do know, is the end has to come. Everything in my gut says I need to control how that happens before someone else gets hurt. That someone was almost Emma last night. The reality here is that Emma and I coming together might well be a great igniter, and the idea that I don’t know what that means sets me in motion. I walk to the bathroom and then the closet, freshen up a bit, and then with the intention of grabbing our bags, I throw on sweats, a T-shirt and sneakers.
By the time I’m done, the bedroom remains dark with Emma still sleeping soundly. I head into the kitchen and call down to the morning crew, arranging to have our bags delivered. I then set the doorbell to ring on my phone only so it won’t wake up Emma. She needs to rest, and I need to think. By the time I’ve set-up a pot of coffee to brew, the buzzer on my phone goes off, which means the bags have arrived. I could buzz open the door and have the bags left downstairs or brought up to the kitchen, but life has taught me to value my privacy, my brother’s suspicious death, driving home that lesson. I head downstairs and open the door to greet the visitor, surprised to find Ross standing there, already in uniform.
“You’re here early,” I comment, as he sets the bags inside the doorway, and I back up enough to allow him to enter. “I thought you hated mornings.”
“I’ve switched to the morning shift, sir.
I scowl. “Sir? When the hell did I become sir to you?”
He gives me a nod. “Fair enough. Jax.”