Total pages in book: 168
Estimated words: 164910 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 825(@200wpm)___ 660(@250wpm)___ 550(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164910 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 825(@200wpm)___ 660(@250wpm)___ 550(@300wpm)
He moans, but he doesn’t open his eyes. I have no idea what time it is, but the sun is up. That’s not a good sign, because I feel like I’m already late for something.
Throwing on my pants, I open a couple of Dallas’s drawers and find a T-shirt. I put it on and open the door, pausing when I see the drawing still on the wall. Solve the problem in parentheses first.
I’m sure there’s some philosophical meaning behind it, but I’ll have to ask him. I think I warrant a real answer now.
Heading to the bathroom, I close the door and turn on the shower. When I turn to search for a towel, there aren’t any on the rack. I spin in a circle, not seeing them anywhere. The shelves are empty except for some hand towels, washcloths, and shower steamers.
There’s a bathroom in Macon’s room, but I’m not going in there without permission again. I already snuck in once back in high school as a prank.
Turning off the water, I head back out of the bathroom and down the stairs. There’s a shower on the first floor. Hopefully, there are towels.
But as I swing around the banister, I catch sight—through the living room and into the kitchen—of what looks like the entire family sitting at the breakfast table. All of their heads are turned, eyes on me, and my heart skips a beat. What the hell?
How did every single person in the family get up and get down here without Dallas and me waking up? I remember the trampling of his brothers back in the day.
“You sleep all right?” Iron calls out.
Someone snorts, but I can’t tell who.
“ ’Cuz we didn’t,” Trace teases.
“Shut up,” Liv scolds.
The hair on my arms stands up. I’ve never been alone with his family, and I wasn’t planning on it anytime soon. Obviously, they helped him come for me last night, and they haven’t kicked me out, but we have a lot of history other than just the treasure.
It would be extremely poor form to ignore them right now.
I drift over to—I don’t know—thank them for saving me from Milo and his cousins or for letting Dallas love me or for being kind to Anna-Katherine, but as soon as I approach, Trace sets a plate at one of the two empty chairs at the end.
My stomach swoops a little, encouraged by the prospect of being welcome at the table, too. Though I told Dallas I’d be right back.
There’s a spread of food across the table, some kind of egg, spinach, and cheese dish, as well as cereal, bacon, and sausage. Macon’s smoothie looks pretty good, but I don’t see anyone else with one.
My sister smiles at me from between Clay and Liv, and I start to sit.
“No, no, no…” Macon shakes his head. “You got one more thing to take care of.”
I see his eyes flit to his sister before he digs into his food with his fork.
The weight of everyone’s attention sits on me, and slowly, I glance at Liv. One more thing…
“Can I speak to you, please?”
She looks over at me, but Army speaks up. “You can do it here.”
I draw in a long breath. Fuck.
Liv rises, sliding out between the packed chairs, having mercy on me. We walk outside, down the three porch steps, and into the yard.
Turning and facing me, she lifts her chin, and that night comes flooding back. I don’t know how I thought I was going to walk away from that.
I remember believing that my revenge would hurt him, and I can even understand getting to the point where that’s the singular thing I could want, but I never took into account what it would do to her. Or me.
God, I’m fucking glad she got away. I would never have forced her, but Milo might’ve tried. I put her in his path.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her.
She blinks, her brows nose-diving.
“Are you apologizing to me?” she asks, disbelieving. “You think that’s what I want to hear?”
I don’t…
“Our family doesn’t apologize to each other,” she states.
And my heart skips a beat. Our family.
So what does she want instead, if not an apology?
Thinking of the men who raised her—Macon, Army, Iron—I can’t imagine them apologizing to one another, either. They wouldn’t want to hear “I’m sorry I fucked up.”
They’d want to hear that you’re going to fix it.
I take a step closer. “What scares me sometimes is what would’ve happened if you hadn’t gotten free,” I try to explain. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want anyone to hurt you. I think I would’ve stopped it, but that’s easy to say. I’ll never know.”
“Do you know what you would do now?”
“Yes.”
I acted like my father. Like Milo.
Like a monster in a suit who can only be trusted to serve himself. Who knows how that could’ve changed me, and who would’ve stepped up to protect Anna-Katherine?