Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 147415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 737(@200wpm)___ 590(@250wpm)___ 491(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 737(@200wpm)___ 590(@250wpm)___ 491(@300wpm)
A convert to her love.
I’ll worship her for the rest of her life, if I can be a part of it.
And I know—I know what this means. This feeling, so vast and intense, tears me apart.
Her hands are in my hair. My hands are on her waist, her back.
Yeah, I’ll never recover from this.
I might spend the rest of my life craving her, and I don’t even care.
I’d keep kissing her until one of us passes out, too, if it isn’t for the interruption.
Radio static.
The Coast Guard.
Canadian Coast Guard.
I lunge for it. “This is Shepherd Foster, owner of this vessel. Can you see us on radar? What’s our location? Over.”
There’s a rustle, maybe the sound of surprise and the man speaks again, giving us the exact location. We’ve drifted so far we’re just off the coast of British Columbia, not in US waters anymore.
I take a second to look out the salt-splattered windows.
There’s nothing to see but water and a small fishing vessel to our right, just a dot on the horizon.
Destiny has her hand over her mouth, just as shocked as I am.
“We’re stranded. Our ship was damaged from the storm,” I say, keeping my eyes on her. I never want to stop looking at her now. “How soon can you assist? Over.”
“Affirmative,” a voice comes back. “Stay put and we’ll send someone out for you as soon as possible. Over.”
Help is on its way.
Fucking finally.
I hold out my hand to Destiny as she presses against me, her body so warm.
I rest my chin against her.
Molly, just as exhausted, snuggles against our legs.
Dess laughs, light and free as I kiss her head.
When Molly stands up and mushes her leathery nose against my cheek, I kiss her, too.
The relief is too real, humming in my veins like blood after a hard run.
We’re alive.
We’re together.
We have time.
Mostly, we have a chance to sort out what the hell we’re truly meant to be.
It takes the better part of the day to get us back to Seattle, and it’s evening by the time the plane from Vancouver lands.
I take Destiny and Molly back to my place without asking.
No discussion, no argument, no emotional firestorm over what this means. We’re all just too soul-drained to care.
We fall down in my bed together the instant we’re through the door.
My gut rolls with phantom motion, still feeling like we’re trapped in that storm.
Dess has the same far-off look in her eyes.
I run my fingers through her hair, and she digs hers under the hem of my t-shirt so we’re skin to skin. We allow ourselves this bliss, this peace, for what feels like hours and it’s still not nearly long enough.
Molly sleeps in a grumbling heap of long legs and fur at the end of the bed.
Goddamn.
I never thought I’d have them here again—especially not like this—but I couldn’t bear it if she left me now.
“What do we do next?” she whispers in the darkness.
“We belt Adriana with everything we’ve got. One good sleep and I’ll be ready,” I tell her.
We sleep with that thought hanging over us, my legal machinery already moving in the background.
The lawyers will go to war without me lifting a finger, but it doesn’t feel like enough.
Leaving a woman who tried to murder us to a mundane arrest warrant and years behind bars doesn’t begin to touch the hell she put us through.
Of course, I don’t want an open confrontation. Not until I’m positive Dess has fully recovered from her ordeal.
It’s two more slow days staying in, making phone calls, and listening to the softly pattering rain like whispers from another world before we talk through our decision.
We set off in the morning and arrive at Adriana Cerva’s townhome just outside Medina.
It’s the typical plush, upper middle crust sort of dwelling you’d expect. A fitting space for someone who’s done well, but never well enough when there’s an endless appetite for Chanel and Prada and regular trips to warm beaches.
No doubt it’s all from her daughter’s mudslinging, and it’s predictably tacky as hell. Her entire moral compass is based on its price tag, and I imagine it extends to her daughter, too.
Meghan is only valuable as long as she makes money for mama—and lots of it.
Fuck, if only I’d noticed how off things felt at the restaurant.
There’s so much I should have done differently.
Still, the stakes are too high today to dwell on the past.
Destiny slips her arm through mine.
We’ve had a few difficult conversations, but they’ve all revolved around the immediate future. What’s going to happen with Adriana, how we’ll prevent my attorneys from having cardiac arrest when they find out what we’re doing, what we’ll tell the cops.
Honestly, I’m giving fewer fucks about Adriana’s fate by the minute. I can’t wait until this is over so we can talk about the future.