Series: Webs We Weave Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 162520 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 813(@200wpm)___ 650(@250wpm)___ 542(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162520 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 813(@200wpm)___ 650(@250wpm)___ 542(@300wpm)
He glowers.
So I add, “You don’t understand. Being close to Rocky is a need, especially when terrible things happen, like last night. He makes my body feel like mine, and I don’t want to ever lose that.”
Nova blinks hard, trying to let it go.
I mentally try to walk away from this conversation, but all I can picture is the last few seconds with Hailey at the party—right before my vision went hazy.
I pull my hair into a high ponytail. “I can’t stop thinking about last night. What Hailey went through after I passed out…” The sun feels hotter, but it might just be my anger burning me. I snap my elastic tie.
She was using the tactics I was trained to do to bide time. Seduce. Distract. Delay.
Being an ace at seduction, that’s been my superpower. It’s my greatest talent, but I have a love-hate relationship with my role.
“Carlsbad,” I say after I tie my hair and drop my hands to my sides. “I never told you both what happened. I don’t know if Hailey or Rocky ever told you, but…I let the mark and his friend have sex with me so we could finish the job. That’s why Hailey brought me here. So I would stop being in those positions. I don’t think I ever would’ve stopped if she hadn’t.”
I love her for it.
Releasing this truth now was much easier than the first time, when I’d struggled to pull it free to tell Rocky. I feel like maybe this is what healing is. Slow repair. Sewn up enough to not bleed out with each word.
Nova releases a long breath, nodding to me. “Thank God for Hailey.”
I nod just as strongly.
Oliver wraps an arm over my shoulders, giving me a consoling squeeze.
I kick up sludgy wet sand while we stroll along the shoreline. Laughter and chatter blend with sounds of soft, crashing waves and squawks of seagulls.
The beach is fairly crowded as the town relishes the sunny June weather.
We walk past a cluster of twentysomething guys in board shorts. They toss a football back and forth, and their gazes shift over me. As their eyes descend to my tits, my abdomen, and the strings of my swimsuit that peek out of my jean shorts, riding high on my hips, a gross sensation slithers across my skin.
Normally I’d just feel…numb.
My pulse accelerates. In this second, I don’t want them to look. Oliver is shirtless, so I slip a silent plea to Nova. He’s already pulling off his olive-green T-shirt, then hands it to me.
I’m grateful for the cover-up. The fabric hangs big on me, and I let it drop to my thighs.
Oliver checks his phone after it beeps. “Varrick,” he tells us. “He wants to know how you’re holding up, Phoebe.”
Nova rolls his eyes and picks up another shell. “Pretending to be a father?”
“He technically is our father.” Oliver finishes rubbing in his sunscreen.
Nova glares. “And not only has Varrick killed before, he likely abused Elizabeth, Ol.”
He still won’t call Varrick our dad, just like he’s stopped calling Elizabeth our mom. Even knowing she’s biologically ours, Nova can’t easily forgive her for the lies and the lifelong deception. I still struggle, too.
“We don’t know that,” Oliver says. “Because we haven’t asked.” His bitterness is noted. But we all agreed to holster our curiosities and not ask our dad to crack open a family memoir. I failed exactly once when I asked Varrick a question, and I still regret it.
“Elizabeth ran from him for how many years?” Nova asks. “She never let him believe she was pregnant. She never told him about us. She might’ve done some heinous fucking things with Addison, but she’s always tried to protect us from whatever trash she hooked on her arm.”
Nova leaves out how he’s always tried to protect our mom from them, too. Her husbands were never upstanding men, so the chances of Varrick being a decent guy are slim to none.
Still, we don’t know the origins of their relationship.
Oliver lifts his sunglasses to his head, letting us see his eyes. “I’m not making excuses for our dad.” Nova cringes as he uses the dad title, but Oliver continues, “All I’m saying is that I’d like more of the story, Nov. I’d just be open to hearing what he has to say. Is that a crime?”
I cross my arms. “Not one that will send you to literal jail.”
“What? Is there a pretend jail I’m unaware of?” Oliver drops his sunglasses over his eyes. “Monopoly prison—”
“Is that Elizabeth?” Nova asks, stopping dead in his tracks.
Oliver and I follow his gaze, and we spot our mom on the patio of the Lure, a ritzy beachside restaurant where I’ve gladly overpaid for oysters and melt-in-your-mouth buttery crab. She’s at a two-seater table with a half-filled mimosa flute.
Despite our roller-coaster relationship, her warm aura still captivates me in a single instant. Honey-blonde hair cascades over her slender shoulders like rivers of gold, and her dainty diamond earrings match the sparkle in her brown eyes. She’s breathtakingly beautiful.