Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 82767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
I nod again.
Dad pulls back, and wrapping a hand around the side of my neck, his gaze is hard on me. “And you never keep anything from me. I can’t protect you from a threat if I don’t know about it.”
“Okay.”
“I live for you, your brother, and your mother. I won’t let anyone fuck with my family.”
I feel the burden lift from my shoulders as I say, “Live you, too.”
Dad stares at me for a moment, then the corner of his mouth curves up. “I’m so fucking proud of you for standing up for yourself and telling her to stop.”
The last of the tension fades away, knowing Dad has my back if Chelsea starts spreading lies around town.
His smile grows. “Barb jumped into the fight?”
I let out a chuckle. “She was like a momma bear.”
“She’s good people.”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“Ready for work?” Dad asks, glancing at the front door. “I’ll catch a ride with you.”
“You’re coming to the gym?” I ask as I head inside to grab my phone and keys.
“Yeah. I want to thank Barb for having your back and see what you’ve been up to since you took over.”
As we leave the house and take the steps down, the Drakes come walking up the beach.
When Dad pauses, I take hold of his arm and tug him toward the back of the house.
“What’s that about?” Dad asks when we’re out of hearing distance.
I shrug. “Finlay’s uncomfortable around us, so I’m giving her space.”
“Yeah, the girl looks like a breeze can blow her over.”
Climbing into my truck, I say, “She’s probably dealing with something.”
The conversation turns to the porch we’re ripping apart and rebuilding as soon as our order of maple lumber boards comes in.
Chapter 9
FINLAY
Dad arranged with Mr. Jefferson so we could move in today.
Uncle Josh and Dad are setting my piano down, so it’s facing the porch when there’s a soft knock on the door. My eyes snap to where Ethan’s standing, and I freeze.
“Hey, Ethan,” Uncle Josh greets, stepping closer to the front door.
“Moving in?” Ethan states the obvious.
“Yeah,” Dad answers, stepping in front of me in a protective move.
“Do you need help?” Ethan asks.
Just then, I hear Quinn and Eli, and the air instantly starts to grow stuffy while the space around me shrinks.
“That would be great. Thanks, son,” Uncle Josh says.
Dad glances over his shoulder at me, and I gesture to the hallway. “I’ll get started on my room.”
“You do that, sweetheart.”
Darting down the hallway, I can feel everyone’s eyes on me, and I hold my breath until I’m safely in the privacy of my bedroom.
I’m going to have to learn how to be social again. At this rate, the whole town will soon know there’s something wrong with me.
I glance around the furniture and decide to make the bed. Just as I reach for the sheet, Quinn walks into the room. “Need help?”
“Ah… sure.”
We get to work, and after a moment’s silence, Quinn gives me a worried look as she says, “You can talk to me about anything.”
I knew this was coming. No matter how hard I tried to hide my trauma, Quinn was bound to realize something was wrong.
I nod, keeping my eyes on the bedding. “I know. Thanks”
When we’re done placing the pillows at the head of the double bed, Quinn’s eyes capture mine. “I worry about you.”
Since Dad’s been home and I broke down, the tears come way too quickly. My chin quivers, and I swallow hard while lowering my eyes to the white bedspread that has an abstract blue shell pattern scattered over it.
“I’m not ready to talk about it,” I admit.
Quinn nods. “I understand.”
My eyes meet my cousin’s, and knowing she’s been through her own trauma, I ask, “How are you holding up?”
“Every day, it keeps getting better. I got some good advice from Nina.” She sits down on the side of the bed. “Just take it one day at a time. Don’t think about tomorrow. Just focus on getting through the next hour.”
I sit down at the foot of the bed and look down at my fingers. “Did it help you?”
“Yeah.”
I nod while swallowing hard on the horrible emotions the attack left in its wake. It’s weird. There are moments I feel fine, then I’m unexpectedly sucked back into the darkness.
Quinn gestures at my guitar, where it’s leaning against the wall. “I haven’t heard you play.”
I shrug. I don’t even know if I still have it in me to enjoy my music.
Quinn gets up, and taking hold of the guitar, she brings it to me. “Play something for me?”
I take the instrument, and when the wood settles against my chest and shoulder, it feels familiar… like coming home after a long day.
I strum my fingers over the strings. “What do you want to hear?”
“Whatever you feel like playing.” Quinn settles on the bed, a hopeful expression on her face.