Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 108165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
“He’s eighteen months.” Slade shows her his phone. A phone Jackson can’t call, just like he can’t contact Livy because the world believes she and Slade are dead. That’s what’s kept them safe and alive.
“Oh, my goodness. Look at that blond hair.” Again, she gasps.
“That’s Livy.” Slade beams when he shows her a picture of Jackson’s daughter.
He can’t take it any longer. Jackson steps behind Frankie to look at the photos. He’s not going to cry, but it hurts like hell. Livy looks radiant. And happy. She’s the most beautiful woman in the world. And Wylder, with his shaggy hair that’s nearly white, is a spitting image of Livy. Of Ryn …
“We just told Wylder about the baby,” Slade says.
Double fuck.
Frankie spins around, too overwhelmed with emotion to speak.
Jackson tries not to look at her, but she’s demanding his full attention, so he glances down at her with a bored expression. Neutral. Unaffected. He’s done nothing wrong. “Apparently, he’s knocked up my daughter again. See why I’m going to have to kill him?”
“Well, as tempting as a threesome with the old man sounds, I’m going to grab food and get some sleep,” Slade says, pocketing his phone.
Frankie turns. “Where are you staying?”
Slade chuckles. “There’s no way I’d share that information.”
She rolls her eyes. “He’s joking about killing you.”
Slade heads toward the door. “He’s not.”
When the door shuts behind him, Frankie returns her attention to Jackson. “You have a family. Grandchildren.” Her flat hands rest on his chest. “It’s time to go home. Let me help you end this.”
Tension pulls at his brow. “I’m going to shower.”
“Jack …”
He shuts the bathroom door.
CHAPTER THIRTY
FRANCESCA
“We’re not talking about it,” Jackson says when he slides into bed after his shower. He rests his hands on his chest and stares at the ceiling while I shut off the television.
“Not talking about what? Your family? Your age? My willingness to help you kill Archer. The mind-blowing sex we had by the lake earlier? Why you act like you despise your son-in-law?”
“Yes. All of it.” He rolls toward me and pulls me into his arms, scissoring his legs with mine. “Except for the sex. We can talk about that.”
“I was pretty good tonight.” I kiss his chest. “Well above average. You were okay. You could have washed your car before pinning my naked body to it. And I feel like you could have said thank you for the blowjob. But now that I know you’re a grandpa, I feel a little bad. You could have fractured a hip, thrown out your back, or gotten a hernia from holding the weight of my body for so long.”
“I’m a young grandfather.”
“I know you’re ‘fif.’ ‘Fif’ what? That’s what I need to figure out. I’ll do some more investigating. But in the meantime—”
“Do you love me, Francesca?”
Whoosh …
Those five words punch the air out of my lungs. Tears sting my eyes. He heard me. Even if I meant it, I want to take back those words. This isn’t the time or the place to fall in love. It was a stolen moment like this is a stolen moment.
I could die.
He could die.
Or he could get caught and spend the rest of his life in prison.
Nothing good can come from loving him. Not for him. And not for me.
“It’s a simple yes or no,” he says.
There’s nothing simple about it. About us. I’ve known him for barely a month. And in that time, I haven’t known him at all.
I roll away from him and sit on the edge of the bed, my fingers clenching the mattress while my heart races, and panic sets in until I feel nauseous. “I’m not this person,” I murmur.
“What person?”
“Vengeful. Unhinged. Dancing naked. Unemployed. A resident of Boone. A whore willing to have sex with an awful man.” I shake my head. “So asking me about my emotions when nothing about this feels real, it isn’t fair. If I say yes, it might be a lie. If I say no … that might be a lie too. Because I’m not me, and you’re not you.”
“I am me.”
I rest my chin on my shoulder, eyeing him for several seconds. “Liar. I know you feel that’s true because you’ve spent so much of your life not being who you are that you’ve allowed yourself to believe you’ve become a different person. But I …” The words are there, but I can’t arrange them in a way that makes sense. “I don’t think anyone is meant to live the life you’ve lived. I bet your wife had to feel like everything to you. A glimmer. The sun, oxygen, love, hope, redemption, and peace. I bet your soul was starving for joy. A sliver of happiness that’s the essence of the human experience.”
Slowly lying back on the bed, I stare at the ceiling. “I’ve seen tiny glimpses of that joy in you. Very tiny.” I roll toward him, tucking my hands between my cheek and the pillow. “When you play the piano. When Eloise shamelessly flirts with you.”