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)
My eyes stick to the preview, annoyed.
We sincerely hope you will resolve the issues regarding your future at Blackthorn Holdings. As you know, contractually this could pose a serious obstacle to moving forward.
In other words, get off your ass. Or at least confirm where everyone stands.
Yesterday, another email came through from Blackthorn’s acquisitions about the resort project.
I barely glanced at it until now, and only because Daley’s lawyer annoys me.
It doesn’t take long to notice there’s a troubling wildlife report and history attached.
Naturally, I ordered a thorough investigation of the property before disappearing, and the results have come back.
I flick back through the many-page document now.
From what I can tell, it isn’t the first time Blackthorn Acquisitions looked at this land.
Gramps originally considered a lodge there twice. He even thought about buying the adjacent land now owned by Daley.
He never moved forward due to environmental concerns.
Apparently, they were bad enough to shelve the whole idea.
That poses some huge glaring questions about Daley’s scheme, but I’m not the one making the decisions anymore.
He latched on to this because it was personal, his desire to make amends, but he approached the CEO of Blackthorn Holdings and his deal was with me.
Fuck, at least Cooper tried it play it straight.
I can respect his willingness to look his past sins in the eye and try to move past them.
As far as annoying assholes on my personal shitlist go, Cooper Daley’s ranking has plummeted.
I should tell Daley’s lawyer I’m out of the game and let the chips fall where they may.
Regardless, I’ll leave him something workable, whether the ski resort moves forward or not. A final goodbye, tying up loose ends.
A few weeks ago, the report would’ve been a fire-breathing dragon.
Now, with my life blown to shit, it feels more like an angry kitten, scratching frantically at the uncertain void of my future.
If only I knew what the fuck I wanted.
But even that feels out of reach now.
It’s going to be a very long road back to sanity and I sigh.
Ares mirrors me, heaving a tired groan as he twists his head in his sleep.
Outside, a few stray seagulls land on the deck, looking for scraps.
All the birds in the world to chase, and he’s oblivious, peacefully leaving bird problems for someone else.
I wish I had it so easy.
I snort and slam my laptop shut.
The last bourbon courses through my blood now, punching fire into my brain.
I’m old enough to know this bad habit doesn’t help worth a damn.
No amount of booze will erase my problems.
No drink can make me forget.
The last time I faced tragedy, drinking made it worse.
Except I was a kid then. I got blackout drunk because I didn’t know any better.
If Gramps hadn’t found me, if he hadn’t dragged me off the floor and sent me away, I might have died face down in my own vomit.
At the time, it felt like a gift.
A second chance at a freedom I never deserved, but I clung to desperately.
This time, there’s nobody around to save me from myself.
I have to know when to quit, when to put the bottle down and flush out my system.
Especially when it feels like Gramps was sweeping his guilt under the goddamned rug.
Once again, he failed, and it curdles my stomach.
I stagger up, walking to the sliding door and into a summer evening free from woes.
Out here, the fireflies play and the crickets chirp like a band.
The stars shine full force, so bright I feel like a shadow.
I haven’t felt this dazed and hopeless since Taylor’s death.
Unlike then, I don’t think there’s anything I can do to outrun this.
I’ve spent my whole life trapped as somebody else.
If I want to break the cycle, I need to meet the real Ethan Blackthorn, but I don’t know how.
23
ALL IN THE WRECKAGE (HATTIE)
Stupid me.
Stupid Ethan.
Stupid life.
My eyelids start drooping until I smack my cheek.
It’s an effort to stay awake as I stare at the Closed sign on the front door. Behind me, Sarah, one of our part-timers who stayed on, is busy sorting books.
I have my version of a business plan in front of me. Lots and lots of scribbles in a dark green notebook. A disjointed mind-map of ideas and authors and plans for redecorating when we have the funds to spare.
I’ve run the bookstore through every AI renovation design app in existence.
Not the most technical approach, but it’s the kind of mindless semi-productive entertainment that helps keep my brain in a happy place.
It helps me avoid remembering why I have this freaking store in the first place.
I never wanted it like this.
I never asked for it, but Ethan just had to let his ego off the leash.
He had to step in like the impatient, heavy-handed prince he is and buy it for me on a whim, and now I’m saddled with a place that reminds me of him everywhere I turn.