Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 108242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
That’s not playing fair because she knows I’ll do anything for her to feel better, to feel safe. Grim knows it, too, judging by the smug look on his stupid face.
I think through the things I’ll need to function out of Wyoming for a few weeks. If I have Jin Lei, Wi-Fi, and good bourbon, I think I can make it work.
And Lennix. She’s my survival kit. The girl who chases stars has war in her eyes, and she’ll need it. The toughest fight of our lives is ahead. The fight to heal.
“Okay,” I say, squeezing her hand. “Looks like we’re going off the grid.”
PART 2
“When you know who you are;
when your mission is clear and you burn with the inner fire of unbreakable will;
no cold can touch your heart;
no deluge can dampen your purpose.
You know that you are alive.”
—Chief Seattle, Suquamish and Duwamish leader
CHAPTER 32
LENNIX
“Pusillanimous.” I glare at the crossword puzzle and clamp an ink pen between my teeth. “It means lacking courage. A sly dig at pussy, like we’re the ones lacking courage in this world. You know some man made that word up.”
“Wow,” Maxim says, walking a tray over and setting it on the bedside table. “Glad there are no men around because they’d need to cover their private parts.”
“Are you saying I don’t think of you as a man?” I drop the crossword puzzle and pen to grin up at him from my nest of pillows and luxurious bed linen. “What do you call last night if not sublime copulation between a man and a woman?”
“Keep using these five-dollar words, and I’m taking your crossword puzzles, and yes. Last night was sublime copulation.”
He digs one knee into the mattress, leaning over to kiss me. “Good morning, you.”
“Good morning, you. What do we have here?”
“For madam.” He slides the tray over my legs. “Breakfast in bed.”
“Again?” I smile and pick up my tea, blowing off some of the steam before taking a sip. “And you got my tea exactly right. You’re spoiling me, Mr. Cade.”
“Took some practice, but I’m nothing if not determined, and it’s much too early to start with the patriarchy. I thought we agreed no talk of blowing up the patriarchy before noon.”
“We said we’d negotiate. I didn’t agree to that because sometimes the patriarchy needs to be called out.”
He settles beside me and plucks a square of mango from a dish. “Well, if pussy… What was the word?”
“Pusillanimous.” I say it slower and with more resentment. “I know you have words you don’t like.”
“Yes, but my hate words are things like impossible and no and never.” He opens his mouth for a forkful of my omelet. “Remember the last time you told me never?”
The memory of us banging in the conference room makes its way from my brain to my nether parts. “Not words like moist or panties?”
He cocks one brow and talks around a bite. “When have I ever objected to moist panties?”
I almost spit out my tea, and we laugh like middle schoolers, sharing our breakfast from the tray. He drinks his unleaded coffee, and I sip my tea. It’s one of the rituals we’ve developed in our three weeks here on his Wyoming ranch.
I’d never been to Wyoming before this trip. It’s not exactly a hotly contested swing state or a cornucopia of electoral votes, so in all my travels, it’s never been a campaign stop. I’m glad. I’ve experienced it as it should be—an infinite plain, disturbed only by the rise of mesas, ascendant mountaintops, and sagebrush sprouting from the terrain. Stretches of wilderness, untouched and inhabited only by lazy bison and ambling antelope. Each mile unveils a view more stunning than the next with navy-blue skies and angel-breath clouds tangling around mountain peaks.
When we first arrived, Rick and a full security team trailed us down a long, unpaved road walled in by towering pine trees. It didn’t take long to go from private to remote. I worried we’d have no time alone, but when we reached the gate emblazoned with a heavy brass C, Maxim and I peeled off.
It was just the two of us driving down the winding road to his place, a sprawling homestead with a front porch embracing the entire house. Wide windows invite the sunlight in. The dark floors gleam, dotted with vibrant knotted rugs.
The sunroom overlooking a creek has become my favorite part of this property I love so much. I run the paths most mornings freely since there’s no access other than through the gate and so few people even know this home exists. Some mornings Maxim joins me on my run, but he usually leaves me to it.
I’ve also started smudging each morning on the sun porch. Mena was right. My ancestors intuitively understood the sacred connection with the land—that it could heal us—and during this time away out here in the middle of nowhere, with the sun and sky for company and the mountains for shelter, I’m recovering. That, along with regular video calls to my therapist, has helped with the flashbacks and residual trauma from Costa Rica.