Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 105709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
“Time.” I laugh, but there's no humor in it. “You mean like the five years I already gave her? The two weeks Eddy had her in that—” My voice cracks. “In that hole?”
Hella's jaw tightens, and I know I've hit a nerve. He's been affected by what he found in that bunker, even if he won't admit it.
He stretches his neck. “That ain't on you.”
“Isn't it?” All the guilt and rage I’ve been swallowing for three weeks tear out of me in two words. “I gave her up. I chose to—”
“You were eighteen and traumatized.” He says the words as if they’re that simple. As if haven’t recited the same words to myself since I landed on my sister’s doorstep. “You did what you thought would keep her safe.”
I turn away, unable to hold his gaze.
He sighs. “Go to bed, Melissa.”
My lip trembles. “I can't.”
“You're no good to her running on empty.”
“And you are?” The accusation slips out before I can stop it. “You who takes her on your bike every day, who she whispers to instead of me, who—”
“Who she trusts.” His words land like a blow. “Yeah. I know it pisses you off. But you know what? She needs someone right now, and if that someone is me, then deal with it.”
I flinch, the truth of it stinging.
He sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “That came out wrong.”
“Did it?” I wrap my arms tighter around myself. “Because it sounded pretty fucking clear to me.”
Silence stretches between us, thick with all the things we're not addressing, with all the tension that's been building since I ran back into his arms when shit got hard. Not to Zane, not to Blake, not to men I’ve known all my life, but to him. To this club. To people I connected with enough to trust that they’d take care of my sister, of my daughter, when I’d be gone. “I'm sleeping here tonight.” I point toward the floor. “Whether you like it or not.”
“Never said I didn't like it.” Something shifts in his expression—heat bleeding through the exhaustion. “Just said you should take care of yourself.”
“I am.” I slide back down the wall with deliberate slowness. “This is me taking care.”
He watches me, and I can see the war playing out behind his eyes. Don't look at me like that. Not now. Not when everything's already fucked. Then he shakes his head, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Stubborn woman.”
“You knew that when you fucked me in the garage.”
His jaw flexes. We don't talk about that night. Don't talk about any of the nights that followed. Don't talk about how my body still burns for his touch even though I know it's the worst possible timing. Especially because of the timing.
“Yeah.” His voice drops, rough and private in the darkness. “I did.”
He turns back toward the bedroom, leaving me alone with the weight of everything we're not saying and the memory of what we could've been if I had just been honest.
Thirty-Two
Melissa
She smiled at me. It's small—barely a twitch of her lips when I set a plate of chocolate chip cookies on the table—but it's there. Real. Mine.
Hella catches it too. Biting into his cookie with a satisfied grin. He’s been better than I could have ever imagined. Creating little spaces in time where she and I are together. Without it being obvious and without pressure.
Smart bastard.
“Good?” I ask, not realizing how much it means to me to have her seal of approval.
She doesn't answer. Ducking her head and swiping a cookie. But she doesn't hide behind Hella. Doesn't flinch when I pull out the chair across from her.
Progress.
“Melissa makes the best cookies,” Hella says, casual as anything. “Better than the bakery.”
Her eyes flick to me, curious. It’s a struggle every day not to wrap my arms around her and tell her how sorry I am for failing her.
“I own a bakery.” The words feel strange, like I'm introducing myself to a stranger. Which I am. “It's called Cyanide & Sugar. Maybe we could go sometime?”
She tilts her head, considering. Then leans over and whispers something in Hella's ear, so quiet I can't make it out.
“She wants to know if you have cake.” Hella's mouth quirks. “Apparently Garret told her about the one you made with him.”
My heart stutters, hope blooming through my veins. It's the first thing she's asked about me. The first real form of communication.
“I do.” I keep my voice steady, trying not to scare her off with my desperation. “I could make your favourite, too. Do you have a favourite?”
Another whisper to Hella.
“She said she likes all cakes except ones with raisins in them.”
I blink back tears, forcing a smile. “No raisins! Got it!”
She nods once before returning to her cookie. But it's enough. For now, it's enough.