Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 109853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
He gave her nape a light squeeze. “Good.” Turning, Trick ducked, careful not to knock his head on a wooden beam, and then crossed to the ladder.
“Wait.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “What?” But she didn’t answer. She was staring at a huge cardboard box. He stalked to her side and saw that “Caroline’s things” had been scribbled on the side of the box with a black marker. He also saw that someone had clawed through the masking tape, leaving the top flaps open. Peeking inside, he frowned. “There’s nothing in there.”
“Nothing?” Frankie looked in the box. “Why would someone take her stuff?”
He shrugged. “Maybe Iris sent whatever was in here to your grandparents. Just because they didn’t give you anything of Caroline’s from after she was mated doesn’t mean that they don’t actually have anything.”
“I guess you’re right.” It just seemed odd to Frankie that the empty box had been left behind.
“Come on.” He led the way out of the attic, closed the hatch behind them, and then guided her down the stairs. As they were passing the shelves, Trick paused. “Want to take the sculpture? She’d rather you have it than anyone else. She’d have liked that it came full circle.”
Frankie nodded. “Grab it.” Outside she took a deep breath, breathing in the clean air. As they dusted off their clothes, her gaze was drawn to her childhood cabin. “I want to go in there.”
Trick stiffened, and his wolf growled in objection. “Frankie, you’ve already put yourself through something emotionally taxing tonight.”
“Actually, it wasn’t taxing. I feel better for it.” Which tremendously surprised her.
“I’m glad, but you won’t feel better for walking through that place.”
“Maybe not. But it’s just something I feel I have to do.”
“Is it something you really have to do right now? Because we’re both covered in dust, and Lydia and Cam are waiting for us. You said that going through your father’s things has helped you feel better. Take the time to enjoy that.”
Frankie eyed him curiously. She could feel his anxiety through the bond. “Why don’t you want me to go inside?”
Trick crossed to her and curved his hand around her neck. “Because I know you’re hoping that something will jog your memory of that night, even though it’s highly unlikely. Lots of things make no sense for you. You want answers. I get it, and I don’t blame you for that. But it will only hurt you when it doesn’t work. I’ve told you before, no one hurts my mate—not even her.”
“I’m not expecting to have flashbacks. I was so young when it happened . . .”
“But you’re hoping that you somehow miraculously will. You’re still mad at yourself because you buried the memories and you can’t seem to get them back.”
Frankie ground her teeth. It really was annoying just how well he read her.
“Look, if you really feel you have to do this, I’ll make it happen. I’ll get permission from Josh to go through the place. But can we not do it tonight? Going through your father’s things was huge for you—even though it turned out to be a good thing, it still wasn’t easy. Let’s take it one step at a time.” He rested his forehead against hers. “Please. For me.”
She took in a long breath. “Okay.”
His face softened. “Okay.”
Shivering, Frankie rubbed her upper arms. It was cold and dark and dusty in the display room. The eyes of her sculptures were closed. They were sleeping. She had to be quiet.
She tiptoed through the door that led to the studio. But when she walked through the door, she wasn’t in the studio—no, the door had led her right back into the display room. She saw a hatch door above her head. She opened it, pulled down the staircase, and climbed the steps. And she found herself back in the display room.
Trick was there. He was staring at The Face. It wasn’t twisted in pain, not while it was asleep. Trick looked at her. “I don’t like it when you hurt yourself. You have to stop.”
She closed her eyes and took a breath. When she opened them, Trick was gone. Iris was there, looking as hale and hearty as she did in her photos, and there were puzzle pieces all over the floor.
“Don’t pick them up,” Iris told her. “Leave them where they are. Let it lie, Frankie.”
The pieces suddenly rose off the floor and began to orbit around Frankie. They moved too fast for her to really see any of them. She looked back at Iris, but she wasn’t there anymore. “Where are—?”
The pieces froze in the air. Fell to the ground. She could smell gun oil and gunpowder and blood. Beneath those was his scent—rain, brine, and burned wood.
She noticed then that The Face had woken, and his eyes bore into hers—eyes that were now human and familiar, yet not. “You’re supposed to be in bed, Frankie.”