Total pages in book: 203
Estimated words: 199654 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 998(@200wpm)___ 799(@250wpm)___ 666(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 199654 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 998(@200wpm)___ 799(@250wpm)___ 666(@300wpm)
She’s crying as silently as she can, but it sounds like she’s losing the battle and is about to break into ugly sobs.
And I can’t help but feel like what she needs the most from me is something she’s preventing me from doing. Wrapping her up tight in my arms and promising her I’m gonna make it better. That’s all I want to do right now, make this better for her. Purr for her. Hold her. Have her melt into me.
I lay in the dark room, staring at the ceiling, taking in her scent while I do, and feeling a sensation clawing through my veins that I fucking loathe.
Fear.
What the fuck am I gonna do tomorrow if they continue to let her keep herself from me? The sensation is carving out my insides. Because it’ll mean it doesn’t get better for me and also, she’ll continue feeling like this. I can’t have that. It’s making me crazy.
What if the SCC agrees with her petition and sets a court date? How long could that take? I can’t lose her. I won’t. I’ll move mountains to stop that from happening.
31
BAILEY
Abruptly, he jumps to his feet and storms out. I hear the front door close, so I rush to look out the window, watching as Jason’s wolf sprints from our driveway.
My chin trembles with the threat of more emotion.
If only I, too, could shift into another shape and escape the confines of the loop my brain is in right now. Run, jump, be wild, feel free. But of course I can’t. Because there’s always going to be this wolf-sized hole inside me.
Maybe going for a drive will have a placebo effect.
I shed my pajamas and get dressed before I slip into flip flops, whip my hair up into a bun, and grab my bag and keys.
I tiptoe past Dad who is asleep on the couch in front of the much smaller TV from our rec room.
As I drive through the intersection at the four corners of our village, I accidentally catch up with Jase who sees me and is immediately shifting to his human form, looking at my car as I pass him. I catch his expression and first it’s confusion, then in the rearview mirror, I see his mouth moving. I’m not a professional lip reader, but it doesn’t take an expert to know he’s cussing. Maybe he thought I was looking for him.
I speed up and instead of stopping in Drowsy Hollow, I keep driving and wind up almost ninety minutes away in a twenty-four-hour department store, where I wander every aisle and leave with two-hundred-and-eighty dollars’ worth of random stuff. I guess we’ll call it retail therapy, though maybe I need some actual therapy because I don’t feel remotely better.
When I return to my room, it’s three in the morning. And Jase is awake, waiting for me.
He looks like he’s wound as tight as a bow, watching me from the trundle bed with irritation, but saying nothing. I drop my bags on my dresser and move into the bathroom, turning on the shower to get one more minute to myself more than anything. After a quick wash, I slip into my walk-in closet to get into pajamas.
He’s got his back to me when I tiptoe over him to get into bed.
And we both lie here for a while before my eyes finally drift shut.
***
After maybe two and a half hours of sleep, I’m coming out of the bathroom as Jase is coming into my room. I suspect he’s returning from a run, though it looks like he ran on two feet judging by the muddy running shoes on his feet. His upper body is naked; he’s in just a pair of black basketball shorts. I’m about to comment about the muddy shoes and how my Mom will feel about them, but the look of irritation on his face has my eyes pivoting away as I pass him, making sure not to appreciate his muscled body, those defined hip bones, or how the black tribal ink winds up his arms and to his neck on one side.
Nope, not affected by any of that.
I’m such a liar.
He moves directly to the bathroom and I hear the shower turn on while I’m telling my brain to ignore how incredibly delicious he smelled.
After digging through the kitchen cupboard for a to-go coffee mug, my Dad sits down and gives me an assessing look.
Great. Not.
“What’s happenin’, Bailey?” Dad asks. And it’s not a rhetorical greeting.
“I’ve got to get to the library,” I tell him, jerking my thumb toward the door.
He clenches his jaw before replying. “See you after that then. Here for that council and coven meeting?”
“Uh huh. Later,” I say, stirring in the sugar and cream before capping my cup.
“Hey?” Dad calls.
Drats! I was almost out of here.