Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 100853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
“Thanks,” I said dryly.
“Just being honest,” Royal said with a grin and a shrug. “I was there. I remember. But not this. This is not your fault.”
I nodded, hearing him but unable to agree with him. Our father had been awful, but he’d made choices, just like I had. And what makes a person who he is? Choices.
Pushing the dark thoughts away, I followed him down the hall that led to Griffen’s office, the library, and the family gathering room. We made a turn, and I found myself in a wood-paneled room, the windows covered from the inside, the pool table racked and ready to play. Griffen, Finn, and Tenn all waited at the side of the room. Someone had set up a tin bucket stuffed with ice and bottles of beer I recognized from Sawyers Bend Brewing.
Nash, my sister Parker’s fiancé, strolled in, grocery bag handles looped over his hands. “I bought all the chips they had. And a box of cookies from Daisy,” he said, looking to Royal, who grinned.
“My girl is the best,” Royal said.
“Her cookies sure are,” Nash replied.
“What is this?” I asked, looking at all of them.
“Guys’ night,” Griffen answered, shoving a beer into my hand. “We’re all stuck here together—might as well make the most of it.”
My shoulder blades were tight, my smile stiff, and my heart ached because they were holding the door wide open and all I had to do was walk through. “I’m up for guys’ night,” I said, my voice a little stiff at the rush of emotion I didn’t want them to see.
“Teams,” Finn said, pointing at me with the beer in his hand. “Ford and Griffen against Royal and Tenn. Nash and I play winners.”
“Done,” Griffen said, sending me a sidelong look. “They’re totally fucked.”
“Totally,” I agreed. Griffen and I hadn’t played pool together in decades, but when we had, no one could beat us.
“How are you still this fucking good?” Royal asked a little later as we methodically destroyed them.
I shrugged. “I like to knock the balls around,” I said, and sank the final shot. “Clears my head.”
“Fuck, man. Good luck,” Tenn said as he passed off his cue to Nash, and Royal handed his to Finn.
Griffen just grinned at me and said, “Still got it.”
“We’ve still got it,” I agreed, and felt the smallest blooming of hope.
Both Royal’s and Savannah’s words echoed. Prentice had been the center of it all. Royal was right. But I’d made choices too. I couldn’t undo what I’d done, but I could decide to be different going forward. I could build something new, something good and real.
I wasn’t exactly sure what that meant, but I could figure it out.
Chapter Thirty
FORD
Later that night, I lay in bed, sleep as elusive as it had been since the night I’d ended things with Paige. When I looked around, all I could see was Paige, covered in blood. I couldn’t sleep in here. The memory of her bleeding haunted me.
The handle on my bedroom door turned, and the door swung open. No one was there. It had been doing this all week—swinging silently open, leaving clear the view from my bed to Paige’s closed bedroom door, warm yellow light leaking beneath. My own door swung gently, as if to draw my attention, saying, Look, she’s awake. Go talk to her.
I rolled over to stare at the wall. The door could open all it wanted, but the house or whatever was doing this couldn’t make me look. I wouldn’t give in to temptation. I wasn’t being selfish, dammit. I wouldn’t risk her just so I could have what I wanted. I knew she was angry, and it didn’t change anything. I would do whatever I needed to, to keep her safe. And if that included pissing her off, I could live with that.
And once this was over, I could spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to her.
Finally, I shoved the covers back and stormed across the room, closing the door and bracing the desk chair under the handle.
When I woke in the middle of the night, it was open again.
Across the hall, Paige’s light had been turned off. I imagined she slept and wished I was there with her, holding her, listening to her soft breath, the silk of her hair on my cheek.
The next day was more of the same—sticking to the back stairs, avoiding the windows, grabbing a quick breakfast in the kitchen, and hiding myself away in the attics again. More paperwork. All dead ends.
My phone rang in the silence of the attic, the blare of sound startling me. I almost dropped the file I was flipping through. I didn’t recognize the number.
“Hello?”
“This Ford Sawyer?” The voice, male, was wobbly with age and unfamiliar.
“It is. Who’s this?” I asked.