Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92118 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92118 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
“We do, don’t we?” Monroe lays her head against my chest. I can’t see her face from this position, but her voice goes almost wistful. “It’s almost a shame that this was destined to be temporary. I don’t like wasting time on what-ifs, but it’s kind of hard not to wonder what we’d accomplish if we had longer than a year.”
It feels downright traitorous to agree with her, but fuck, I can’t argue. We still bump up against each other’s razor-sharp edges sometimes, but now that we’re not actively at odds, it’s impossible to ignore how much I enjoy her company. How much I just flat out enjoy her. “I know.”
She gives me a squeeze and slips out of my arms. “Oh well. Let’s be there for our girl today and enjoy the rest of this time together.” She hesitates. “I don’t like the thought of asking Shiloh to choose after next Lammas, though.”
It’s like she’s pulled the thoughts right out of my head. I clear my throat. “I was thinking we could share.”
“Joint custody?” Monroe’s smile is on the bitter side of bittersweet. “It won’t last before that blows up in our faces.”
“Nothing lasts forever, Bride.”
Monroe gives herself a shake and grins at me, though her bravado doesn’t reach her eyes. “Miss me a little when I’m gone, yeah?” She strides to the closet before I can come up with a response.
I will.
It’s the fucking truth. Gods, how did this get so messed up? Life wasn’t easy when I hated Monroe, but it was certainly less complicated. I head into the bathroom to finish getting ready. One look at Shiloh’s face heavily discourages trying to make conversation. She’s spooked, too pale, the circles beneath her eyes confirming what I experienced last night with her tossing and turning—she’s exhausted and stressed out.
“You don’t have to do this.”
She dries her hair with perfunctory motions. “Yes, I really do.”
Which is how we end up in one of the compound trucks an hour later. I should probably have talked to Abel or scheduled some backup, but Shiloh’s already so edgy, I don’t want to pave the way for more witnesses to this moment of vulnerability. There’s a reason she hasn’t told most of the people in our group about her history, and I respect that enough not to bring them into it unnecessarily. I didn’t tell my older brother for that very reason; he would have insisted on backup, Shiloh’s feelings be damned.
Monroe sits in the middle of the bench seat, and I’m grateful for that as Shiloh guides the vehicle out of the compound. For all her spikes, Monroe is far better at navigating Shiloh’s emotions without pissing her off. I’m not sure how she manages it, especially when she gets under my skin so intensely, but that comfort is what we need today.
I’m so busy running scenarios on how to provide that comfort, to support Shiloh, that I don’t realize what direction we’re headed in until Monroe tenses next to me. She speaks softly, but there’s an edge to her tone. “This isn’t the way out of Sabine Valley, love.”
I look around. She’s right. Instead of heading south and then east toward the highway, she’s gone north toward the river. Toward Amazon territory.
Shiloh’s got the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip. “No. It’s not the way out of Sabine Valley.”
Monroe sucks in a breath as we cross the bridge. For once, she doesn’t seem able to ask the hard question, so I drop my hand to her thigh, squeeze, and do it for her. “Shiloh, where did you grow up?”
She still won’t look at me—at us. Several city blocks pass before she finally answers, so softly, I strain to hear her over the faint hum of the engine. “Sabine Valley.”
“No.” Monroe starts to lean forward, but I use my arm to keep her pressed back to the seat. It’s a token of how distracted she is that she allows it. “No,” she repeats. “I would have known if you were one of us.”
“How?” Shiloh still sounds too distant, too empty. “How would you have known, up in that expensive penthouse, living in the shadow of the throne? How could you possibly have known, Monroe? You were fifteen when I left the city. Still a child.”
For the first time, I feel actual sympathy toward Monroe. I shift my arm to tuck it around her shoulders. I almost pull Shiloh in, but she’s holding herself so tightly, I’m worried she might strike out or just drive us into the nearest building. Still, I can’t help brushing her shoulder with my fingers and saying the thing Monroe obviously can’t quite bring herself to. “Amazons value their children. They don’t do shit like what was done to you.” Her parents made my father look like a saint.