Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 109368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 547(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 547(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Checking the camera feed, I saw Silver take my spare key I had hidden.
Nosy bloody woman knew where it was.
I hadn’t set the alarm on the house and probably should have.
Hoping she was there to pick up the stuff she’d left and not to violate my privacy, I’d decided not to call the VHF radio in the house to tell her to get the fuck out.
But then a second alert came over the app, and this one was worse.
While I had no cameras inside the main house, I had one in the hidden room off the bedroom.
I saw on the feed as Silver stood inside the small room, staring around in abject shock.
She jolted as if she’d heard something and then quickly stepped outside, and the wall closed.
She’d found the wall light that opened the door.
In all the time she’d spent in my bedroom, I’d been very careful to keep her on the other side of the bed so she never found it.
I had to hope like hell she didn’t tell Cammie. Or anyone.
Quinn, Forde, Murray, and Laird knew there was something up with me. I was taciturn. More than usual. But I couldn’t tell them why. Instead, I got through our performance on autopilot. We ate. They exchanged looks they thought I couldn’t see. I knew Quinn suspected I was pining for Silver because he’d fucking told me. After I nearly took his head off in response, he hadn’t said it again. Yet I knew he was thinking it.
We drove to Broadford, and I let the lads talk among themselves while I checked my outdoor camera. Sure enough, the recording showed Silver stepping out of the house with Cammie seconds after she’d closed the hidden wall. They left quickly.
Gut churning, I left the lads at the guesthouse bar, promising to meet them before the gig, and disappeared into my room.
I brooded for a bit. Checked in with Annie to see how Akiva was doing. Resisted the urge to call Silver. Finally, it was time for the gig.
After we finished, I switched on my phone and found I had a voicemail.
From Silver.
Miraculously, I got through a late dinner with the lads before excusing myself to head back to my room to listen to her message.
The sound of her voice reawakened that crushing weight on my chest.
“Hey, it’s me. I know we haven’t talked in a while.” I heard the shakiness in her voice as she took a breath before continuing. “I did something. When we were collecting the dresser, I remembered where you kept the spare key, and I went into the house to get my stuff. My books and tablet and toiletries. And, uh, I broke the wall light by your bed. You know the one. I … I didn’t mean to invade your private space. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, Ramsay. And I’m sad.” She let out a huff of hurt laughter and I hung my head, hearing the pain in her voice. “I’m sad you didn’t feel like you could show me who you are. Or who you were. I … Anyway, I’m not going to tell anyone about the wall light. I wanted you to know that.” She let out another shaky breath. “Goodbye, Ramsay.”
Silence echoed around the small room.
I scrubbed a hand over my face.
Silver was smart. She’d kept the message vague because she perceived the truth even if she didn’t realize it herself. And she knew from her own experience, it was possible someone was listening who shouldn’t be.
Smart.
Kind.
Sweet.
Fierce.
Passionate.
Capable.
Strong.
Independent.
My perfect match when it came to sex.
Resilient.
Honorable.
Good.
I missed Silver like I missed a fucking limb.
Gritting my teeth in frustration, I glared at my reflection as I caught it in the mirror on the wall.
In my life, I’d known brutal moments of unhappiness.
I’d known pride.
Satisfaction.
Contentment, even.
But happiness …
I might have known it as a child, before my parents died. I think I did, considering how traumatic losing them was.
But I hadn’t known it since. Not until her.
Realization scored through me along with something else I’d rarely felt until Silver entered my life.
Panic.
“You self-sabotaging bastard,” I muttered angrily at my reflection.
38. Tierney
Ramsay never responded to my voicemail. If he’d chosen to speak to me in person or merely ignore what I’d discovered, I wouldn’t know because fortuitously for me, I had a flight to catch the next day.
In the six weeks I’d spent recuperating, dealing with the slow, stressful, legal stuff for Shawn Prescott and Halston Cole, and seeing the B and B come together, I’d also been worrying constantly about London.
Her texts were infrequent, her calls even more so, and that didn’t make sense. Considering what I’d been through and was dealing with, London would have been the first person calling me every day to check in. Now she was cagey and uncommunicative, and I couldn’t sit by and let it go on.