Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 124923 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 416(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124923 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 416(@300wpm)
I’m sure she’s thinking about the night she witnessed Christian getting the shit kicked out of him at the hands of his own father, and on the night of Danny’s memorial to boot.
Before anyone can respond to that, a gust of wind blows so hard, whipping snow at the window, and the rustic chandelier flickers on and off above us.
“Branch probably hit a powerline,” Thayer explains, looking up at the lights.
Shayne snaps into action, running to the oven to check to see if the turkey is still cooking.
“We’re good,” she informs us.
I eye the turkey, not quite trusting Shayne’s culinary skills. I haven’t seen her make anything more complex than a grilled cheese sandwich in all the time I’ve known her. “A meat thermometer might be helpful. Unless you’re planning to give us all the gift of salmonella this Christmas.”
“Hater,” Shayne says even as she digs through the kitchen drawers, presumably for said thermometer. “It would be even more helpful if you actually had one.”
“I have to go to the store before the weather gets worse,” Thayer says. “I’ll grab one.”
“Oh good,” Shayne says. “Can you also grab flour for the gravy?”
“Sure.”
“Shit, I need tampons, too.”
“Make a list,” he says. I raise an eyebrow, amused at the fact that a year ago, he claimed to hate our ex-stepsister, and now he’s not even batting an eye at buying her tampons. My, how the mighty have fallen.
“Oh, and we probably need more alcohol.”
“Maybe you should just come with me,” he suggests.
“Good idea.”
Valen’s eyes flash over to mine for a split second before she looks away, and I can tell she’s thinking about the fact that we’re going to be left alone together. It also doesn’t escape my notice that she doesn’t volunteer to go with them.
She can pretend to hate me all she wants. I do love a good challenge.
Valen
“You have got to be kidding me,” I mutter. I’m mid-shower when the lights go out again. Shayne and Thayer didn’t end up going to the store until after three o’clock, and once they did, I went upstairs to get away from Holden, and I haven’t seen him since. Even when we were in the same room together, I didn’t so much as look in his direction. I knew he looked at me, though. I could feel the heat of his stare on my cheek every time he did.
I stare at the dark ceiling, impatiently waiting for the power to kick back on like it did earlier, but when a full minute ticks by, I know I won’t be so lucky. Of course, the power would go out now when I’m wet, naked, and full of soap bubbles.
I move back under the spray of water to finish rinsing off in the dark before feeling for the faucet and turning the water off. I step out onto the bathmat, blindly feeling for the towel I hung before I got in, then wrap it around me. Stepping out into the hall, I listen for voices, for anything at all, but it’s dead silent, save for the sound of wind howling outside. And pitch-black, even though it can’t be much later than five o’clock.
“Shayne?” I call out, keeping close to the wall as I make my way down the hall, but silence is all I hear. How long have they been gone? At least a couple hours now. They should’ve been back. A bad feeling has my stomach twisting. What if something happened to them? I know Holden didn’t go with them, so where is he? I need to find my phone, but I left it on the counter downstairs—the only place it gets service—and I can barely see my own hand two inches from my face.
I walk toward the stairs, holding my hands out in front of me so I don’t walk into anything. Not being able to see is one thing, but not being able to see in a house you’re not completely familiar with is another thing entirely. I bend over, flattening my hand near the base of the wall, feeling for an outlet, hoping to find one of the plug-in flashlights I’ve seen around the house. I can’t remember if I’ve seen them up here, but I know for a fact there’s one downstairs—also in the kitchen.
“Dammit.”
When I straighten, my towel starts to slip. I refasten the knot, walking down the steps. “Shayne?” I call out again. “Holden?” I call out his name begrudgingly.
Nothing.
A tree branch scrapes against the window at the bottom of the stairs, causing me to jump. Get it together, Valen. I blow out a breath, annoyed at myself for being so jumpy as I hurry down the rest of the way, keeping my hand on the railing. I go as quickly as I can while still being careful not to slip on the cold, metal steps. Once I’m at the bottom of the staircase, I can vaguely make out the large outline of the couch in the living room and the chairs on either side of it. I stay in the space between the coffee table and the couch, sticking closer to the couch side so I don’t hit the sharp corners of the table, but I second-guess myself when the tips of my bare toes meet resistance. I nudge it again, something hard and cold and unmovable in the way.