Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 135300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Aside from the plate, everything seems untouched.
That’s not much relief when I’m avoiding the mess of ceramic fragments scattered across the floor, sweeping a few stray pieces aside before the kids step on anything. They’re both wearing their shoes, but still…
It’s not a pretty scene.
The sheer force involved tells me this was no accident. It looks more like the plate was hurled at the floor intentionally.
But why? What the actual fuck?
Who would be that angry? Who would do such a thing if they were just looking for stuff to steal?
Because maybe they weren’t.
And my hands shake when I think it might be more personal than money.
Please, please don’t let this be about me or Gramps. These sweet kids can’t be scared for their lives all because of some dumb grudge I had nothing to do with.
“Guys, be really careful where you step. I need to sweep this up,” I say, guiding them to the table through a clear path. “Take a seat. Let’s have some hot chocolate while I clean up, okay?”
It won’t fix everything, but maybe it’ll help clear their heads while I try to breathe.
“Want some help?” Dan volunteers eagerly, his shoes tapping the floor. I’m glad they forgot to take them off once we came home to stranger danger.
I almost turn him down, but there’s something urgent about the way he asks.
“If you want to, you can sweep the edges, wherever I show you. Just don’t walk over anything until I say it’s clear. There’s a broom in the pantry.”
“On it!”
Outside, the rain picks up, pounding the windows.
Fall means darker, earlier nights. This normal weather only compounds the claustrophobia inside the house.
I shiver.
“Here, hold it open for me,” I say, passing him a big black trash bag from under the sink. After putting two mugs of milk in the microwave for chocolate, I start sweeping.
By the time Kane returns with his shirt plastered to his shoulders and his hair damp, the floor looks clear, and the kids each have a hot chocolate in hand.
Dan fiddles with the windup drummer boy. I’m glad he has it so he’s not hyper-focused on the break-in, even if the little toy feels a touch creepy right now.
“Did you see anything?” I ask Kane the second he’s through the door.
“Nothing.” He shakes his head. “A half-smeared bootprint in the mud by the driveway and some tire tracks, but nothing real useful.”
A flash of the old pickup driving past skips in my memory.
The distinctive dent on the side.
At the time, I hadn’t noticed much—but I recognized that vehicle.
“That truck,” I say, and Kane flicks his gaze to me. His eyes are dark with swirling fury, a forest at night. “The one we passed on the way in… it belongs to the Babins. I saw it when I went to their place.”
His jaw clenches.
I can tell he wants to rain brimstone on these ‘neighbors’ of ours.
That makes two of us.
They lied to my face, claiming they respected Gramps when they’ve been fighting him all this time. They flipping sued him.
Supposedly, they tried to burn the whole place down.
God.
“We should call the police,” I say.
“Yeah, better now than later. The kids will have to go home if the cops can’t find anything useful,” Kane agrees.
“What?” Sophie nearly spills her hot chocolate as she shoves her chair back.
“Dad, that’s not fair!” Dan shouts, glaring at his father. “We never go anywhere nice and now we gotta go home?”
“Nooo, I don’t wanna be stuck with Mom.” Sophie’s bottom lip trembles. “She’s always dragging us on modeling trips and they’re so boring.”
“Yeah, her new boyfriend doesn’t even like me. He sucks at Minecraft too.” Dan snorts, shaking his head with disgust.
Poor munchkins.
My heart aches for them. I hate that they have a mother who makes them play second fiddle to her glamorous life.
Maybe because it feels familiar.
Our parents treated us like accessories growing up, just another thing rich people should have along with personal chefs and perfectly trained purebred dogs. Oh, and we never got to have a puppy.
Just Ares, PopPop’s ancient basset hound. These days, he’s napping away his long evenings with Ethan and Hattie.
Maybe my parents regret their distance now, but they’ve never changed their lifestyle. No big moves to reconnect with us as adults, either.
That’s whatever.
“Your mother can take you somewhere warm for a few days,” Kane says softly. He smiles, but his eyes are steel.
“We never like going away with her and you know it. It’s not like here!” Sophie pouts, her eyes glinting with tears.
Dan nods, folding his arms.
“Dad, this place is cool. We love it here. There’s a lake and a fort and I get to play my drums as much as I like. We get our homework done early and no one ever tells me to shut up so they can watch their dumb dating reality show or pose for another Reel.”