Total pages in book: 213
Estimated words: 201920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1010(@200wpm)___ 808(@250wpm)___ 673(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 201920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1010(@200wpm)___ 808(@250wpm)___ 673(@300wpm)
Spearing her fingers in her hair, she grips onto the roots at her temple. Her shoulders are hunched, and she looks worse now than she did years ago. “It’s not a coincidence,” she says quietly and her voice is shaky.
It looks bad. It looks really fucking bad. I can see why she’d be freaked out, but this isn’t the way she should have handled it.
I can hear her breathe in sharply as I lay a hand on her shoulder, but I make sure to keep my touch gentle, and she slowly melts. Every bit of her is breaking down.
She licks her lower lip and struggles to look me in the eye as she tells me, “Ever since they found him…” She trails off and rolls her eyes although sadness and guilt even, mar her expression.
“Calm down,” I tell her as she takes in a breath. “You’re all right.” I try to pull her in close to me, to be close to her like I was a few nights ago, but she pulls away enough that my hands fall from her.
She looks me in the eyes as she confesses, “Ever since that night, I’ve had these nightmares… My mom…” She takes in a shaky breath.
“You need to sleep and eat and let it all go, Chloe.” I hold her gaze as I take a step closer to her, willing her to let it go. “People die.”
“They’re being killed,” she replies forcefully, although her bottom lip wobbles. Her eyes dart from me to the door as she takes a half step back. “I dreamed of her last night,” she whispers darkly. “With Tamra. And the others before.”
Letting out a breath, I straighten my back and run a hand through my hair. Behind the butcher’s is a mechanic shop and I stare at a patch of rust on an old beat-up hood as a wind gust blows by and the heat lets up for a moment.
“You didn’t do this,” I tell her without looking at her.
“I feel like I’m going crazy,” she says in a sad voice that forces me to look at her. Her doe eyes reach mine. “Truly crazy, Sebastian.”
“You’re scared and searching for meaning where there is none,” I tell her, hoping she’ll just drop it already.
“I don’t know what to think, but it’s not--”
“A coincidence?” I cut her off, staring into her eyes and forcing her to let it go. “It is. That’s all this is.”
Her head wavers with the smallest of shakes and she looks at me bewildered. “But even you said the cops would think--”
“Jesus,” I cut her off again and run a hand down my face. “Is that what got to you?” I ask her, tilting my head and staring at her like she should know better. I can feel my brow furrow as she struggles to come up with an answer.
“Chloe, you can’t be doing this. You need to sleep-”
“I did!” she protests.
“More than one night,” I add. “And you need to eat. You need to take care of yourself and stop worrying about those assholes.”
She lifts her hand up to her shoulder and lets her thumb drag along the collar of her shirt as she looks out onto the mechanic’s shop. “It’s just a coincidence?” she asks me, although it sounds more like a hopeful statement. I wait until her eyes are on me to tell her, “Yeah, you’re just tired, Chlo.”
She holds my gaze for a second and I swear if it had been a second longer, I would have had to look away.
“I’m sorry,” she says with another shake of her head. Biting down on her bottom lip she looks away from me and says, “I didn’t mean to come here and…”
“You definitely shouldn’t have come here,” I tell her with a seriousness that makes her flinch.
“I…” she starts to respond and then corrects herself, “I said I was sorry.” The instant the words slip from her, I can feel her walls start to go up. For a moment I had her, but I’ll be damned, I don’t want to lose it. Not again.
“Come have lunch with me.” I don’t offer her an out or a chance to turn me down. Feeling the heat get to me from the direct sun, I wipe my hand down the back of my neck. “You need to eat anyway.”
“I don’t know that I should,” she tells me although her words come out as if she’s asking a question.
A huff of disbelief leaves me. “So, you think it’s okay to come here and talk to me about people being murdered?” I wait for her eyes to meet mine before I continue. “But going out to lunch is where you draw the line?” I let my expression show a bit of disappointment, even a little sadness. She’s always been a sucker for that.