Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 132097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 660(@200wpm)___ 528(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 660(@200wpm)___ 528(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
That’s fine.
Better to get it over and done with.
Then I can stand to look at my phone again.
Hell, what do I care if it falls apart without me?
I have no special talent in real estate. I’m still inexperienced.
Blackthorn Holdings was always the boulder Gramps shouldered, and he’s not passing it off on me anymore.
I don’t want his passion.
I don’t want his life.
Not after he lied to me, along with everyone else.
The old man used me.
This warped marriage game was just his way of rubbing it in one last time, I think. Making sure I behaved like a well-trained dog from beyond the grave, humoring him even when he wasn’t alive to see it.
Fuck that.
It’s my turn to figure out what I want.
Without Blackthorn Holdings, I still have a decent nest egg—enough to escape back to San Diego or Scottsdale or maybe the dark side of the moon.
Wherever the Blackthorn name means nothing.
Hell, I could start my own venture without needing much outside capital.
Margot was never sold on me taking over the company after Gramps died. She always thought I could do something else with my life.
Here’s my chance.
I lean back in my seat, swirling my drink before I take a sip.
There’s nothing obvious beyond my next buzz, and that’s the problem.
Nothing but a black hole of possibilities.
But I’m not thinking straight.
Not yet.
In a matter of days, my life ended and the ground crumbled under my feet.
Do I have enough left to care about building a career? A future?
I finish the bourbon, feeling the fire sweeping through my gut.
Dad passed on his love of good scotch and bourbon. One of the few things he did, considering we’re complete strangers genetically.
My lips curl sourly.
Why must human beings be so fucking complicated?
Ares lifts his head from his place on the rug in front of the fireplace and whines.
It’s like he can read my thoughts. His ears perk hopefully.
Now that I’m officially an outcast, I’ve gone full hermit. We’re holed up in this little cabin just outside Portland while I plot my next move.
It’s secluded enough to spend my days walking the dog and forgetting the world. The quiet nights among the tall trees and the glittering shore below the hills are for getting shit-faced drunk and forgetting the Ethan Blackthorn I’ve been.
At least, for trying.
Only, forgetting isn’t nearly as easy as I thought.
Not when you’re haunted by a thousand regrets and the sad face of one beautiful woman no drink can banish from my mind.
“You still miss her?” I ask the basset hound, my voice slurred. The sound might shock me if I were sober, but I’m not. “I’m over it, boy. It wasn’t even real.”
Another huge face-eating lie.
Another reason I had to move the hell out of my own house.
As big as the place is, I knew every room would still smell like Pages.
Every surface would glow with faded passion, the unwelcome memories of me bending her over them.
When I came back inside, I expected to find her there, staring at the remnants of glass on the floor with horror and dismay.
But no, after dragging myself in from the storm sometime after sunrise, she was gone.
Smart girl.
I’m better off away from that place and all thoughts of an existence built on lies.
Ares clearly feels differently.
He’s pining after her, looking around and whining every few hours, waiting for the girl who delivered pets and too many treats to come walking through the door.
My phone buzzes and I manhandle it with a groan.
Just a text this time.
I already guess it’s Margot before I see her name.
Damn near everyone else is blocked or being ignored. But Margot was just as blindsided by the big reveal as me. She shares a sliver of my pain, and that’s why I open it and read.
Still alive?
You might be the biggest idiot ever born, but you’re still my brother. Call me so I don’t have to say that again.
Damn.
Ignoring my sister is the second worst part of this grim isolation after my drunken tantrum sent Hattie packing.
Idiot? No, that’s too polite.
I am a colossal, demonic fuckup.
Snarling, I drag a hand over my face and pour myself another drink.
Ares watches me with his judgmental big brown eyes.
“What? You’ve got to stop looking at me like that,” I grumble. “Good news, you’ll see Margot again at some point. But she’s not coming here while I’m in this state. Sit tight, pal.”
Smacking his lips, he grumbles and settles his snout on his massive paws, turning his face away from me.
I wish I could shut out everything so easily.
Yes, being here feels better than being haunted at home—but barely. Hattie would have loved this place.
The old paperbacks lining that old bookshelf in the corner.
They’re mostly cheap pocket paperbacks from the eighties and nineties. They would’ve spoken to her, especially the romances with their raunchy covers of long-haired princes and women in half-ripped dresses.