Total pages in book: 217
Estimated words: 207224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1036(@200wpm)___ 829(@250wpm)___ 691(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 207224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1036(@200wpm)___ 829(@250wpm)___ 691(@300wpm)
There are only a few occasions when Lawrence makes an appearance. When he’s hungover, when he’s exhausted, or when he’s worried.
I don’t make it inside. He appears at the top of the steps of the cabin in all his mismatched glory, his face disappointed. I don’t need it. Not now. “I need a beer.” I ask as I approach.
“And a scold.” His eyes behind giant spectacles follow me as I pass. “You fix this, Beau Hayley, do you hear me?”
I turn, inhale, and take a few breaths. “I hear you.”
“I’m going back to St. Lucia. I can’t stand the constant despair and worry being in this city brings.”
I nod, not surprised, not hurt. “Okay.” I fetch a beer from the fridge and flip off the cap as Leon comes at me, nearly knocking my teeth out when he hugs me.
“You’re a goddess.”
“Watch it,” I snap, pushing him away, the stench of marijuana invading my nose. “You stink.”
“I’m celebrating. Where’s J-Boss?”
Lawrence folds his arms over his chest and rests his weight on one hip, tilting his head. Jesus. I go to the changing rooms with my uncle hot on my heels. “It was reckless and selfish.”
“I know.” I pull my locker door open and something falls to the floor at my feet. I dip and pick up the card. Oh, yes. This is just what I need right now. “Do you remember Quinton?”
“Oh, the cute Cuban?”
“Yes.” I hand Lawrence the card. “He said hello. Mentioned that it would be nice to see you.”
“He did?” A blush crawls its way onto his cheek as he plucks the card from my fingers and reads it.
I smile and get changed.
Get ready to fix the mess I’ve made.
I ride back with Otto and Goldie, who are definitely giving me the silent treatment. So, basically, everyone is against me. I’m not being a victim. I’m accepting that I’m a headache. For everyone.
I walk into the lobby of Danny’s mansion—my home—and Goldie and Otto head to the kitchen, where I can hear people chatting. I don’t go there. I go straight to our room.
But it’s empty.
I dislike the sudden thrum of my pulse immensely. My shortness of breath. The panicked heat rising inside. “James?” I call, going to the bathroom. No life. The shower’s not been used recently. The sink has no water splashes in the bowl. I go to the terrace. No one.
The gym.
He’ll be balancing. Trying to calm down and find his center.
I race down the corridor and the stairs two at a time, and jog to the gym, pushing my way in.
Empty.
“Shit,” I curse, fighting back the rising panic, relaying every awful thing he yelled at me. I don’t understand you anymore. He told me one time that my hate walks hand in hand with my love for him. I swallow. Hate has lost a grip on love. I hardly understand myself anymore.
I back out and go to the kitchen. Everyone is in there, at the table, the island, helping Esther, talking. And it falls silent when they all spot me at the door. “Where is he?” My voice cracks over my question, the worst dread coming over me. That dread only multiplies when people start looking at each other in question, clearly waiting for the person who knows where James is to speak up. No one says a word.
I’m done with this shit, Beau. I don’t know what you want.
You’re clearly hell-bent on doing what the fuck you please, and I’m fucking exhausted trying to stop you.
Otto goes to his phone. Danny’s relaxed face turns tense. And it occurs to me . . . “His car.” I run to the window that looks out onto the front, not remembering seeing it. “It’s not there.” I face the room, my body starting to convulse with the strain I’m inflicting on myself just trying to force steady breaths rather than gasp. I realize I have no right to feel like this after what I’ve put James through in the past twenty-four hours. But . . . it’s unstoppable. The panic. The fear. The worry. He didn’t come home? “Where is he?” I yell, feeling my way to the closest drawer and yanking it open. “The paper bags. Where are the bags?” I slam it shut and yank open another, searching for them. “Dexter always kept the bags in the drawer.” I don’t understand. I haven’t had a flashback. I’m not in a busy, chaotic space. Why is this happening?
A burst of activity breaks out around me, and Rose is quickly in my sights. “Beau, calm down.” She tugs me across to a chair and pushes me down onto the seat, and Doc holds a glass of water at my lips. I sip it, never taking my eyes of my friend, willing this episode to fuck off.