Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 137326 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137326 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
My fingers clench in my lap. “At the initiation. There was a camera, no? Isabella implied that she watched the entire thing.”
“And you believed her?”
“What was I supposed to do?”
“Isabella is not a Senior member and wasn’t even there. The only members present were me, Preston, Jude, and three others who aren’t on the hockey team.”
“Wow, thanks. At least now I know Isabella didn’t see the video, but the others did.”
“They did not.”
“But…the camera?”
“Disabled.”
“How did she and her brother know, then?”
“Probably Preston spreading rumors in his free time.”
Oh.
A part of me is still skeptical, but when I stare into Kane’s cool eyes, I believe him.
Which I probably shouldn’t, considering the circumstances.
He watches me with intrusive intent.
“What?”
“I’m still waiting for you to thank me for last night.”
“Do you usually save people to be thanked?”
“I don’t usually save people, but in your case, yes, I want to be thanked properly.”
“Thanks,” I say around a bite of pancake.
“That didn’t sound sincere.”
“Well, you should’ve provided clearer instructions. You said to thank you, not to make it sound sincere.”
He narrows his eyes. “That mouth of yours needs to learn some discipline.”
“Or you need to listen to other opinions aside from your own.”
“Not interested. Either things go my way or they crash and burn. No in-between.”
The warning is clear.
I shouldn’t mess with his system.
But something tells me that behind all that control, behind the walls and the cold, there’s chaos.
And somehow, someway, I’ve been pulled into it.
Now, whether I get consumed by it or use it to my advantage depends on how I handle this new situation.
We finish breakfast in relative silence. Kane doesn’t seem to want to talk much, and my attempts to start a conversation are met with monosyllabic replies.
It’s the ice fortress that surrounds him, completely camouflaging him from the outside world.
And me.
As we stand to get ready for school, the doorbell rings.
Kane goes to the screen that shows who’s outside. I trudge behind him and lean sideways to see.
A woman who looks to be in her mid-to-late forties stands there with a weary expression, her cheeks sunken and her icy eyes a replica of Kane’s.
His mother?
I expect him to open the door, but he just clicks on the phone button, his voice completely detached. “Mother. What can I do for you?”
“Honey.” She lifts a box in front of the camera. “I made you your favorite cookies.”
“I don’t eat those anymore.”
Her expression sinks and she shifts her eyes to the side, awkwardly inspecting her surroundings.
“If there isn’t anything else.” He reaches for the hang-up button, but I press the unlock key first.
“Please come in, Mrs. Davenport,” I say before the click of the door sounds in the distance.
Kane’s head tilts in my direction, his eyes narrowing. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Inviting your mom in. Why would you talk to her through the intercom as if she’s some sort of stranger?”
“You know, that’s your problem, Dahlia.” He barges into my space, his shoulders crowded with tension, and I step back. “You always meddle in shit that doesn’t concern you.”
My back hits the wall as his mother walks in. “Kane, hon.”
He straightens and meets her halfway, hugging her ceremoniously, his posture rigid. “Hello, Mother.”
I stand there observing the height and size difference between them. The fact that a frail woman like her gave birth to that beast of a son is fascinating.
Up close, her features look like she was a real beauty in her day. The lines on her face are a clue that’s she’s had a rough life.
“And this is…?” She looks at me with curiosity, her eyes much softer and kinder than her son’s.
So it’s not about the color.
“Dahlia,” he says without looking at me.
“Your girlfriend?”
“N—”
“Yes,” he cuts me off with a glare.
Jeez. Talk about intense.
“Hi.” I wipe my sweaty hand on my hoodie and then extend it to her. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Davenport.”
“Call me Helena.” She smiles. “This is the first time I’ve met one of Kane’s girlfriends.”
I peek at Kane, but he has both hands in his pockets while standing erect like a statue.
She offers me the box. “If you’d like, you can have these homemade cookies. They used to be Kane’s favorite. I’m not a good mother and didn’t know he doesn’t like them anymore.”
I’m curious what she means by ‘not a good mother,’ but I obviously can’t ask that, so I accept the box instead. “Thank you. I love cookies.”
“Oh, I’m glad to hear it.”
God, seeing mothers like her makes me miss my mom. She used to bake the most delicious cookies and even let me mess up the kitchen.
Small fragmented memories.
Lost memories.
Kane doesn’t know he has what many of us wish for. A caring, loving mother.
Someone to fall back on when it feels rough.
“We’re getting ready for school, Mother.” Kane’s flat, unfeeling tone cuts through the moment. “If there isn’t anything else…”