Total pages in book: 180
Estimated words: 176012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 880(@200wpm)___ 704(@250wpm)___ 587(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 176012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 880(@200wpm)___ 704(@250wpm)___ 587(@300wpm)
Windows tinted, parking lights on… I charge for the front door, dropping the mug on a little table nearby, the cold coffee sloshing onto my hand.
The moment I step onto the covered porch, the car races past me, my heart stopping mid-beat as I watch it peel around the corner, giving me no clear view of the driver. I can’t even tell if it’s a man or a woman.
Illinois plates. 7Q6…
Shit. It’s gone before I lock in the rest of the number.
“Dammit,” I murmur.
It could be nothing.
But it’s not. Why would they speed off otherwise?
I breathe in and out, staring after the SUV with the pulse in my ears too loud to hear anything else.
I wince at the pain in my chest. Was it him? He’s supposed to be gone.
Was it one of his thugs? How would they know I’m back already?
Fuck.
“Lucas Morrow?” someone says, nearly shouting.
What?
Finally, I blink, noticing the man standing on the sidewalk. About my height, he stares at me, dressed in a gray suit with a white shirt and black tie. His jacket is slung over his arm. I don’t recognize him. Was he driven here in the Traverse?
“Are you Lucas Morrow?” he asks, enunciating his words like he’s said it more than once. He proceeds down the path to the porch, holding out his hand. “I’m Paul Devney. How are you?”
I swallow to wet my throat. Paul Devney.
The real estate agent. Right.
I glance at the midnight blue Cadillac parked opposite the SUV that just left. That must be his car.
I exhale. “Nice to meet you.” I shake his hand. “Please, come in.”
I hold the door open for him.
“Thank you for the pictures,” he tells me. “I should have the listing up today. I understand you’re anxious to sell?”
I toss a glance back to the street, searching for any more sign of the Traverse. “Almost enough to let it go for free,” I say absently.
Paul Devney got busy, touring the house, taking some measurements and a few more pictures, scribbling down a record of past renovations. The carpet was ripped up a decade ago and replaced with hardwood. There’s new paint, a fenced-in backyard, and only a slightly dated kitchen and master bath.
I told him I’d let it go for well-below asking price. If it came to that. My mom might have an opinion, but she has me to take care of her if she needs.
A couple of hours later, I’m on my way to Camp Blackhawk, satisfied the listing of the house is in good hands.
My phone rings, a number I don’t recognize popping up. But I see the local area code. Anyone here I want to hear from is a contact I have saved. I toss it back down on the passenger seat. Two days. Just give me two days, and I’m gone.
I take a left on the road, feeling like my tires are on fire, but I veer right before too long, exhaling when I’m off that particular highway. The hairs on my arms rise, feeling the pull behind me, both of the road and of the bakery. I’d love a glimpse of her face right now. Just for a second.
Pulling through the arch, the words Camp Blackhawk overhead, I slide into a space to park, overlooking the manicured green lawn and lake fifty yards beyond.
Kids race back and forth across the grass, while others swim laps in the lanes stretching between the two docks. I see Jaxon Trent carrying a canoe to the water, while a guy who looks a lot like Madoc, only younger, works with other counselors to inflate a bounce house. Is that Kade or Hunter, maybe? I haven’t seen the kids in years.
The main lodge sits to the left, through the trees, and I step out of the car, coming around the front. I lean back on the hood. The first time I came here with Madoc and Fallon when I was little is still so clear in my head. There had been cabins down the beach, remnants of the old camp and a boarded-up lodge, but they’ve developed it beautifully since. So much so, it’s almost a shame. I don’t miss how quiet it was, but I do miss it being private. A place anyone could enjoy.
I’d caught Jared and Tate making out in his car that day. Or, now that I’m grown and understand more of what I was seeing, they were probably doing more than that.
There was something about it, though. A mystery or danger I didn’t understand.
But I remember thinking about how I’d grow up and get a girlfriend and be able to do what he and Madoc were doing. I wanted to be like them so much. They always had women around, seemed happy partying and living the life. And then they found the loves of their lives, and everything got even better, and I thought life was really that easy.