Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 138642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 555(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 555(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
“Holy shit. Well, I can guess why,” I grit through my teeth, clenching my fists. “She knew what I’d say. Jesus, how could she? How—knowing what we know now, about Ulysses, when we’ve always known. We knew they had to be involved that night, and Ethan...”
I can’t carry on. The burning thud of my heart makes me incoherent.
“I know,” Grant answers bitterly. His voice is heavy and rough, but he’s still here with me, sharing the same shock, even if he’s not hissing and spitting like a wet cat. “It doesn’t feel right. Ros barely reacted to seeing that poor maid hanging there in the big house. I’ve seen ’em around a few times since and she always seems like she’s... fuck, I don’t know.” He trails off, clearing his throat.
“Like she’s what, Grant?”
“Not herself,” he replies carefully.
I frown.
“Oh, c’mon. Now is not the time to mince words.”
He rolls his thick shoulders. “She’s usually intoxicated. Drunk, I’d say, but maybe hopped up on something else.”
Sickness punches right through me.
“You think she’s on drugs?” I whisper.
It’d make sense, though.
Here I thought she was just being careless, evasive, hiding from what’s happening to our mother and pretending it’s not real so she doesn’t have to suffocate in the fear, the pain, the impending grief.
Only, I remember that man I overheard on the phone.
The weird lightness of her voice.
Now, I get it.
She’s been avoiding me because she knows I’ll know what’s up the second I lay eyes on her.
I hate that it makes a terrible kind of sense.
And I don’t realize my legs are going out from under me until I hear the scrape of a chair and feel my vision blanking out.
Grant runs over and spins the chair out just in time to catch me as I drop, still clutching a half-chewed steak fry in numb fingers.
My butt lands hard on the wooden seat.
“Sorry. I think I just hit my limit for too much crap,” I say hoarsely, staring at my knees. “I just... everything with Mom, and now Ros, marrying that man. He probably knows what happened to Ethan, he—he—”
“Breathe,” he commands.
I try, fighting for precious air that feels like napalm scorching my lungs.
“Butterfly. Look at me and breathe,” he says again.
Grant sinks to one knee in front of me, those dark eyes locking on mine, demanding that I focus on him as he gently clasps my face.
His hands smolder against my skin as I work out several hard breaths, each one coming a little easier than the last.
His eyes search mine, strong and dark and strangely reassuring.
“That’s the other reason I didn’t tell you,” he says after a minute. “You’ve got enough shit on your plate. I did want to talk to you about Ethan, though.”
I just stare.
I can’t seem to look away. Those searching luminous hazel eyes become my focal point until I stop trying to hyperventilate.
“Ethan? What about?”
“I’m reopening his case,” Grant growls. “I think there’s grounds after what happened with the Arrendells and Celeste Graves. Ethan’s case has been a missing person’s cold case for years, long past any formal resolution. With Raleigh forensics working on those remains, we might get some answers, one way or another. Hell, if we’re lucky, we might be able to retrace his steps, and hope his bones aren’t among the remains at all.”
My body stops working.
Heart. Breath. Blood. Pulse.
All of me freezes as I meet his eyes, stare at him, stare into Grant, into that quiet solemness and raging gruffness that hides a heart so true.
He never stopped.
He really never stopped looking for my brother all this time.
He still thinks there’s a chance he’s alive, even if deep down, that seems completely ludicrous. The hope was starved out of me without anyone finding a single clue.
“You... you asshole,” I strangle out. My mouth moves automatically. I don’t know what I’m saying, why I’m saying it, or why my eyes are welling up and I just can’t take anymore. “You overly loyal giant donkey. You... you...”
There’s a moment.
A crack in reality when those hard eyes soften.
All those years I spent when we were young, wishing he’d show some emotion.
Something plain and simple and honest.
Something easy, without having to turn myself into a human Grant decoder to understand his growls and loud silences.
Now, he finally gives me what I’m aching for with real concern flashing across his face, the way he leans into me, staring down like he’s afraid he’s broken me somehow.
“Ophelia, fuck,” he says softly. “I won’t see you hurt.”
No, but he will see me speechless tonight.
If I ever speak again, I’ll tell him how wonderfully dumb he’s being.
But right now, he’s just a giant blur past the tears.
Scalding, stupid, overwhelmed tears I don’t want to cry, but I just can’t take another bee sting to the heart.
I can’t take more confusion, more things to fear.