Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 142214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 711(@200wpm)___ 569(@250wpm)___ 474(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 711(@200wpm)___ 569(@250wpm)___ 474(@300wpm)
Greyson unzipped his coat, the metallic rasp cutting through the silence. “It’s Rat.”
“You brought a fucking rat into my house?”
“No.” He lifted the kitten like a toast, and the tiny creature squawked again.
“What the fuck is that?”
“I found it under my porch. He’s too small to live with the other rescues yet.”
“So you’re just carrying him around like a Momma Kangaroo?” His brother laughed, the sound rich and incredulous. “Living in the woods is making you weird, bro.”
Greyson stroked Rat between the ears as his little sticky claws tried to catch his calloused fingers. “He’s feral. The mom abandoned him, so he needs to be socialized for a few weeks.”
“So, you’re just sittin’ at home playing with yarn and bottle feeding that runt? Charming.”
“Wren’s got a lot on her plate right now.”
“There it is. I knew you didn’t volunteer to play nursemaid to a cat on your own.”
His brother cut straight to the bone. Nothing in him wanted to take care of an underweight kitten, but Wren had assumed he would, and he didn’t have the heart to tell her no. Besides, Rat actually seemed kind of cool, growing on him like moss on a tree.
“Nothing charming about this little hell spawn. He might look like a dust bunny, but he’s packin’ murder mittens. He has no regard for personal space or the laws of physics, and I’m pretty sure he’s training for a prison break. I’m not adopting him. I’m just trying to keep him alive until he’s big enough to move in with the others at the sanctuary.”
“Keep pretending it’s an inconvenience. Nicely played.”
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“Come on, Grey. That little rodent keeps her coming by, doesn’t it? Pretend all you want that you don’t know what you’re doing. I’m not that stupid.”
Sharp truth cut him open like a blade. As long as Rat lived with him, Wren would stop by to check on him, her presence filling all the empty spaces in his life.
He’d been running out of excuses to visit The Haven now that construction on the yoga studio had concluded. And, God help him, he really liked when she came to his house. He liked the way her scent clung to the furniture, and how she unconsciously arranged the crap by his sink whenever she used the bathroom, making his space more homey.
Feeling exposed and desperate to flee, he snapped, “She get back to you yet?”
Soren tapped his phone and frowned, the expression darkening his features. “No.”
Greyson shifted and glanced out the front window, letting Rat tour the sill with curious whiskers twitching.
“Dad tried talking to me about his funeral yesterday.”
Greyson looked back at him on the landing where he now sat on the top step, waiting for his phone to ping like a lovesick teenager. “And?”
Soren shrugged. “He wants his ashes scattered off the back of one of his ships.”
“How on brand.”
“At least he didn’t request we fly Bette Midler out to sing ‘Wind Beneath My Wings’ or some shit like that.”
“Small mercies.”
They fell silent again, the air thick with tension no matter how much Soren tried to dissipate it with small talk. He wasn’t letting him off the hook that easily. His brother would either admit defeat, and promise to back off of Wren, or he’d get a size twelve boot up his ass.
“Dad also told me—”
“I’m not here to talk about Dad.”
Greyson wasn’t in the mood to grapple with his guilt, grief, or regret. Not that he had much guilt regarding his father, but it was hard not to have regrets when dysfunction reached its endgame with no resolution in sight. Some part of him always hoped they would eventually get over the loss of their mom and be a family again, whole and unbroken. That never happened.
“Did you hear that Logan’s trying to be a hand model?”
Greyson frowned and glanced up at Soren, confusion creasing his brow. “Didn’t he lose a nail in a pickleball game last week?”
“Yeah. That’s a real crusher in his industry.”
They both chuckled, the sound breaking some of the tension. Greyson lowered into one of the high-backed leather chairs in the foyer, his body sinking into the expensive material as he checked his watch.
Soren’s home was completely different from his rustic cabin. Everything smelled like expensive leather and furniture polish, the scent of money that never knew a hard day’s work. There wasn’t a speck of dust anywhere. Maybe such privilege was a testament to his manhood, but Greyson never felt the need to flex their wealth in such a suffocating way.
Soren stood from the steps, paced the landing like a caged animal, checked his phone, then paced again. “How do you just sit there like this isn’t weird?”
“It’s not weird. We all knew you and Wren weren’t going to pan out.”
“Fuck you, Grey. No one knew that.”