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)
I thought they would melt come morning.
But they never did.
I later learned it wasn’t just her favorite poem. It was the poem the Tinrocks and Graveses used as a cry for help when one of them was wounded or in trouble. She said it encompassed the undying love of their families.
All Hailey has ever known is a love that’s more than love.
And now she’s seeking that in me. I want to love someone to the depths of poetic death. I want to love her this way, but my home is a place. Her home is an organ pumping through five different bodies. All she needs is them to survive.
I need this town. I can’t leave my birthright. I’m still, and will always be, a Koning.
“Hailey,” I whisper in the office.
She shifts her weight, nervous. Oliver stays behind her, and she peers from him to me. “I can only give you the information. You have to make a choice, too.”
“Are you releasing me?” I ask her. “That’s what you said. You want to release me from the responsibility of being a father? The responsibility of caring about you, of loving you?”
“I don’t want to,” she breathes. “But if it’s easier for you—”
“It’s not easier to walk away,” I interject softly.
“Jake…” she draws out. “If we fail this job, I can’t stay in Victoria. E-even if the baby is yours, I can’t. It won’t be safe.”
I nod, knowing, and I don’t lie to her. “I can’t leave this town,” I say gently. “I will do everything I can to make sure I get the full inheritance, because I can’t fathom abandoning you. I’m not scared about my reputation. I’m just scared you won’t be able to stay here with me.”
She’s pregnant. Even picturing her packing her bags with a round belly, carrying my child, and I can’t follow is tearing me apart. That’s not the man I ever wanted to be.
BURNER PHONE CHAT
(JAKE): Reminder: Trent’s biggest party at my family’s estate is tonight. I could use help making sure he doesn’t set the place on fire. Girls still excluded, sorry.
(PHOEBE): As you’ve told us a million times already
(ROCKY): Make it a million and one
(JAKE): I don’t want you two around him at these things.
(ROCKY): Same
(NOVA): Third
(OLIVER): Fourth
(OLIVER): We’re missing our fifth? Get in here, batty
(TREVOR): I’m not against using the fruit as bait
(NOVA): NO
(ROCKY): ffs
(HAILEY): We promise we won’t be there
TWENTY-FIVE
Rocky
I’ve lost count of the amount of belligerent, debauched parties Trent has thrown at the Koning property. Even summering at Stonehaven, he hasn’t packed away his inane strategy to piss off his little brother. Every fucking Saturday, we have to babysit the estate like it’s a prized jewel and the thief is inside the vault swinging a hammer at it.
Trent’s tactic to gain the rest of the Koning inheritance is so harebrained that I lose brain cells trying to rationalize it. Jake will never just hand over the other half. Not even if Trent takes a shit in his bed every night.
It’s not happening.
And yet, here we are. Again.
All the parties vary on levels of depravity, but tonight’s is especially unhinged. Trent usually has a guest list, or at least a cap on people roaming the main house, lawns, and pool.
Tonight, I’d bet my soul (if I had one) that there isn’t a bouncer at the door.
He’s letting anyone in, and if I had to make a guess, some stupid prick from Caufield University spread the news of a “Koning rager” because it feels like every face I see can’t be older than twenty-two.
One blessing: Trent doesn’t know I’m here, or else I’d have to be glued to his hip like a mole.
Second blessing: Phoebe isn’t here, or else I’d be going out of my mind. Trent wants Phoebe too bad for him to just casually ignore her at a party.
So, yeah, I’m hanging on to those blessings while Jake and I roam the grounds to make sure no one fucked with the horses again. My shirt sticks to my skin in the thick summer humidity. Sweat beads up against the back of my neck. Jake runs a hand through his hair, peeling back the damp strands that cling to his temples.
A shotgun blast goes off, followed by rowdy applause. Unfortunately, the sound came from inside the Konings’ mansion.
Jake clenches his jaw and closes his eyes in an exasperated beat. He can’t catch a break. I can relate, but my home isn’t the one being decimated from the inside out.
“Let’s go check the house,” I tell him.
We end up trekking back to the mansion. We pass a lewd game of croquet that involves stripping and hitting lines of white powder off hands. Firecrackers pop on the manicured grass, and college students in Caufield tees cheer on a topless girl doing a keg stand.