Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 74670 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74670 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
He cocked an eyebrow at me as he took another bite of his ridiculous amount of food. Fuck, I missed being able to eat like that. Getting old sucked. But then the alternative was worse.
My thoughts went back to the bedroom this morning and Lace’s interpretation of my tattoo. It wasn’t the only one of my drawings that was inked on my body, but it was the one I was most proud of. She’d nailed it. In a better way than I could ever describe it. Not that anyone had ever asked me. They all assumed I liked the way it looked. Few even knew I had been the one to sketch it out, create it.
“When she does wake up and come down here,” Jayda said, looking at Gathe, “don’t overwhelm her with a million questions. Let her eat, get comfortable.”
I seconded that, but I didn’t say anything. It was best Jayda handle it. Lace wasn’t mine to protect. The less I acted like it, the better off we would all be. If the damn instinct to immediately step in when she needed anything would go away, then it would be a hell of a lot easier. Like last night, for example. Bad move, staying in there with her.
“I just found out I had a sister,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “I want to meet her.”
My gaze flickered over to the refrigerator’s smart screen to see the time. She’d been awake now for over an hour. Unless she had gone back to sleep, which was unlikely. Maybe I should have checked on her before coming down here. No, I had to stop checking on her. That wasn’t good. She’d get dependent on me, and that would be a fucking mess.
“Go check on her,” I told Jayda.
She might not leave the room otherwise. Although why the fuck I cared I didn’t know. But she needed to eat.
Eighteen
Lace
Jayda had prepared me for the fact that Gathe Bowen was waiting to meet me in the kitchen. She also said he talked too much and might ask things I didn’t want to talk about. If so, I was to tell him that. He was easygoing and full of himself. At least, that was her description. She’d also said he was nothing like Locke. The two were very different. While Locke looked more like Mal, Gathe took after his mother in appearance. It seemed I did, too, but then I’d been seeing my mother in the mirror for years now. My face was almost identical to the one I remembered smiling at me.
When I followed her into the kitchen, instant relief, along with a fluttering in my stomach, came with the sight of Luther sitting at the end of the long table. Maui was sitting happily at his feet, slapping his tail against the hardwood. It was a struggle not to openly stare at the sight the two of them made. But I managed to shift my attention to the other man at the table.
Blond. Very blond. He reminded me of a surfer.
His lips tugged up into a smile, and he stood up.
“Good morning,” he said with a thick Southern drawl that didn’t fit the surfer-boy image. “I’m Gathe,” he told me. “But I imagine Jayda already filled you in on that.”
“And warned her that you have no filter and can’t shut up,” Jayda piped in before motioning for me to take a seat at the table. “I’ll bring you something to eat.”
Eat. What was she going to bring me to eat? I tensed and looked over at the stove and the food she’d prepared. There were no boiled eggs and wheat toast. No berries. My heart rate instantly shot up. I couldn’t eat that. Every meal she had given me I’d struggled to eat even a few bites. I hadn’t understood why until now. My memory was back.
“What’s wrong?” Luther’s voice seemed to slow my mounting panic as my focus swung to him.
“I…” What did I say? How did I explain?
He pushed back his chair and stood up, his eyes never leaving my face. “Lace,” he said, and again, there was a moment of ease with it.
“I-I-I’m not supposed to eat,” I stammered out, even while knowing that I wasn’t at my father’s house.
He wasn’t here to see what I ate. I wasn’t going back.
“Do you have food allergies?” he asked, moving closer to me.
I shook my head, although perhaps I should have lied. It would make me seem less crazy.
“Then tell me why you can’t eat,” he said sternly.
“Luther, you’re scaring her,” Jayda told him.
He shook his head, not taking his eyes off me. “No, she was already scared.” When he reached me, he took my chin between his thumb and forefinger and narrowed his eyes as he studied me. “Tell me what’s wrong.”