Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 62782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 314(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 314(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
“We’re going to work, remember?”
Confusion is quickly chased by the memory of his gift to me. At the time, I’d been elated. Now, I’m a little annoyed at the timing. Still, the opportunity to get out overshadows my disappointment.
What will we do? I sign to him.
“You’ll see. Grab a warmer jacket and let’s go.”
Cy is stiff and radiating some serious pissed-off vibes, but he keeps it in check as he drives. I can’t keep my eyes off his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. My attention leaves him to try and see through the woods as we approach where the new people moved in at. As we pass, I strain to see anything of excitement. A tall, fit man in a gray hoodie nods at us from the porch as he drinks coffee. A grin tugs at my lips, and I wave through the glass.
“Don’t,” Cy growls, menacing and angry.
I ignore him, not allowing him to spoil my birthday. It’s the best day I’ve had in years, and it’s barely started. Hope floods through me for the first time…probably ever.
I could have a friend.
I am going to a job.
I’m finally eighteen, which feels important in a way I can’t seem to fully grasp yet.
The neighbor must be hot because I’m getting major boner vibes from Remy.
Finnick’s voice is loud inside my head. I can hear every syllable and each breath. I shoot a startled glance Cy’s way, but his features are impassive, not giving away a thing.
It’s not even seven, Finn, for fuck’s sake. Judd.
Again, I turn a questioning stare to Cy. He’s thrumming with irritation, but that’s his usual personality. It’s hard to say if it’s from them or me.
I’m going to make ribs in the smoker. Rey. And homemade mashed potatoes. Remy will be so pleased.
“You hungry?” Cy grunts out, darting his blue eyes my way.
I sign out a yes.
He turns onto Old Highway 946, headed southeast toward Brigs Ferry Bay. It’s not like I’ve never been to town before, but it’s a rarity. Anticipation eats at my gut as we drive along the highway that cuts through the forest like a precise blade. I’m aware of every minute detail—the different varieties of trees and shrubs, small animals venturing close to the road, moisture coming down from the low hanging clouds, dotting the windshield in a slight mist.
The highway curves sharply as we go due south, Old Highway 946 turning into Sandpiper Way. Several minutes later, we pass over the river, the truck bouncing as we cruise along. I stare at the rushing river feeling exhilarated as though I’ve dunked my entire body into the frigid waters. I see a sign signaling that Beacon Hill Estates is coming up. The homes in that neighborhood are old, but nice. From the maps I’ve studied of Beacon Island, I know there’s a golf course at the back of the neighborhood, but I’ve never seen it. Beacon Island Hospital is on our left, and I’m able to greedily watch people entering and exiting as we wait at the stoplight. The traffic on Blue Shark Boulevard is heavier than from where we’ve come, which means we’re finally encountering people.
The light turns green, and Cy gasses the truck, headed toward Second Street. He hangs a left and grumbles when we reach Main Street.
“Too many people,” he mutters. “We should have just eaten at home.”
I love Rey’s cooking, but I’m excited to eat out today, I sign with rapid movements, a grin overtaking my face. I wonder if we’ll see anyone my age.
Cy’s features harden, his eyes latched on to my neck. He startles when someone honks behind us now that the light has turned green. We luckily find a parking spot right outside Comida’s—a hole in the wall diner that we’ve eaten at a few times in the past. I’m practically thrumming with the need to see unfamiliar faces. Cy shuts off the engine and reaches for me. He’s never been overly affectionate, so his gesture confuses me. His hand grips mine as he fumbles for his words.
Too weak. Too small. Too broken.
Like a pin popping a balloon, I yank away from him, shocked at the assault inside my head. He’s too loud today. Those never-ending thoughts he has about me may as well be on blast. I fling myself out of the truck, needing air and space from my warden.
Familiar tugs in the bond sense my alarm and mood, but I slam them shut, instead focusing on the scent of bacon filling my nostrils. I’m starving and have the urge to eat everything in sight.
“We’re going to have breakfast and then make a pitstop to see the sheriff before we head in to work,” Cy says, his voice gritty and annoyed. “Don’t dawdle in here. Eat and let’s go.”
Dawdle.
Like a child.
I don’t remind him I’m eighteen now. Instead, I choose to pretend I didn’t hear. I’ve never been to the BFB police station, so another thread of excitement trickles through me. I’m unable to hide it, and I feel Finnick’s amusement.