Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 105921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
He either liked me or he didn't, and I couldn't remember the last time that choice had me so rattled.
"So," I began, trying to sound more confident than I was, "I want to get your mom a surprise. She didn't bring her lampwork supplies down here, and I've seen her sketching. She wants to get back to it, and I thought I'd get her some basic stuff to get started. Do you know anything about her tools? Can you tell me which torch she'd like?"
Thatcher's eyes were wary as he leaned over to take the tablet from me, tapping and swiping until he'd looked at the various pages I had open. Pointing to a torch with over a thousand five-star reviews, he said, "She's been looking at that one. She wants to upgrade, but the one she has is okay so she hasn't wanted to spend the money." He flipped to a different tab and pointed to a basic lampwork kit. "That's enough to get her started. And she'll need a good worktable. Something sturdy that won't catch fire."
I took the tablet when he handed it back. "Does she usually set things on fire?"
I could see Thatcher weighing his answer, deciding if he was going to fuck with me. "Nah. But sometimes, the torch or her tools are hot and they scorch the table." He straightened, turning on the couch to face me, arms crossed over his chest. Like this, he looked a lot older than thirteen. It wasn't just his size—Scarlett was right, he could have easily passed for sixteen, even a young eighteen. It was the gravity in his icy blue eyes, the challenge. He was still a kid, but he was no child.
"Why are you buying this stuff for my mom? She has everything she needs at home. Are we going to stay here?" An edge of panic tinged his voice at the end.
I didn't know what to say, so I went with the truth. "I want you to, but nothing has been decided."
"What about what I want?" Thatcher demanded, his chin thrust forward, teeth clamping together the second the words were out.
I sat back, trying to look relaxed when I was anything but. "That's why nothing has been decided. You guys are a team. Your mom isn't going to make any decisions without you and your brother."
"She hasn't said anything," Thatcher muttered, his arms falling to the sides, his eyes on a scuff at the end of his sneaker. He rubbed at it with the heel of his other shoe. "She just hugs me and tells me we'll talk about it later."
"She's worried about you."
"I'm fine."
I paused, not sure what to say next. "I'm not trying to make you feel bad, but while you and your dad were missing, she was terrified." Thatcher's face fell, misery and guilt weighing his features, shading his bright eyes. I tapped his foot with mine to get his attention. "I meant it. I'm not trying to make you feel bad. I get why you did it."
A grunt. More scrubbing at the scuff on his sneaker.
"Look, I loved my dad, too."
"You said he was an asshole."
"He was. I still loved him for a long time. Especially when I was around your age. If I'd thought he was in big trouble, that I could help—" I shrugged, saying honestly, "I'm not sure what I would have done."
A raised eyebrow and a sullen look. "My dad's not an asshole like yours."
Something we could agree on. My smile was thin but real. "Yeah, I got that. My father was his own breed of asshole. Your dad—he's made some really bad decisions. He almost got you and your mom killed. I don't want to think about what would have happened if we hadn't come after you, if Sinclair Security hadn't saved all our asses. We're going to have to deal with the fact that he's mixed up with some really dangerous people. That doesn't mean you stop loving him. He's still your dad."
"Is my mom mad at me?" he asked, his voice sounding far too young for his body.
"No," I said immediately. "Your mom loves you more than anything in this world aside from August. She was scared. And if you do anything like that again, she may kill you herself. But right now, she's not mad, she's just grateful you're okay and that you're with her."
"So, why isn't she asking me what I think about all this?" That chin jutting forward in defiance reminded me so much of Scarlett, I felt an instant connection to Thatcher. I had to remind myself that just because I was head over heels for his mother, that didn't make us friends.
Scarlett aside, I liked him. He was honest and smart, and despite fighting with his brother half the time, he was a good kid. Polite. Kind. Usually pretty thoughtful. That part stuck with me. This was not a selfish kid. He shared with his brother, had way more patience with August and Nicky than I would have had at his age. He had to love his dad a lot to have put his mom through so much.