Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 88064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
"The universe definitely thinks I need a fuck ton of great sex," she says. "In fact, I’m enjoying having some time to myself. I mean, I love those men, and I’ll never get tired of all the ways they make me feel good, but it’s nice to have some time to myself, and nice to spend it with you. I’ve missed this."
We grin at each other, and memories of our friendship over the years warm my heart.
I needed this time with my bestie, and I wonder if Kyla’s right. Did I manifest her? Did the universe send her to me exactly when I needed her? However she ended up down under, I’m happy.
We chill at the beach together, soaking up the sun, enjoying the waves and mostly laughing in each other's company.
When Jared and Joshua leave the beach, Lachlan appears. He keeps a respectful distance, waving as he runs into the water, his big, muscular body cutting through the frothing surf and disappearing beneath the waves. He swims out to the horizon, almost disappearing from sight, and I watch him worried, trying to focus on Kyla’s news about her job at Ink Factor, and failing. Eventually, I spot him swimming to the shore and he reappears with a heaving chest and water dripping from his dark hair. He smiles briefly in our direction, and raises his right hand in a quick wave, then he dries off and leaves the beach.
Around thirty minutes later, Bryce and Bradley stroll past as though they have nothing better to do than walk the beach in the middle of the day. They say hi but don’t linger, disappearing almost as quickly as they appeared, and my heart hurts because it’s so obvious that they’re checking up on me.
At around midday, Kyla’s phone rings and she spends half an hour on FaceTime with her men. They’re so nauseatingly sweet to each other. It’s so obvious how much they miss her. She has a place in the world where she belongs and I’m so jealous, I’m swamped by the feeling. I’m tumbleweed, caught up in the desert wind. But how can I build a future where everything outside of today fills me with terror?
26
LACHLAN
As each of us returns from the beach, we share the little we’ve managed to glean about Dawn and Kyla.
I notice that Dawn’s eyes seem sad. Bryce and Bradley report that her shoulders seem higher and tighter than usual. Jared and Joshua saw her laughing, which is a relief. None of us wants her to be upset.
But none of us knows how to reach her.
I feel it in my bones that she’s going to leave when Kyla returns home. As much as I wish we were an anchor capable of keeping her here, I know it’s wishful thinking. Dawn is adrift and something is keeping her from struggling to the shore. She’s flighty, like a bee that moves from flower to flower, never quite finding a place to rest.
How do we get her to see that letting roots grow is what’s best for her?
When I’m showered, I head to the office, glancing at the newly installed glass, still raging inside that Jeffrey fucking Barrow thinks he can damage our business and face no consequences. When we find a way to get him to back off officially, I’m going to make it my mission to seek the only kind of revenge that will satisfy me.
Logan is sitting behind the desk holding a letter, his face grim.
"What’s that?" I ask, slumping into the chair opposite. He slides it across the wooden surface. With only a quick glance, I can tell it’s from Barrow. Snatching it up, I scan over the text. It’s the same offer letter as before, except the offer has been crossed through with red ink and reduced by twenty percent.
Very funny. Fucking hilarious.
Barrow has a fucking death wish.
This is it. No more.
"I’m calling the police," I say.
"We have a crime number," Logan says, reaching into the drawer for a folder. "It’s from the report of the brick through the window."
"Okay," I say, as he passes it across the desk. I look up the number for the local police station, and when I eventually get through to a human being, I take my time to describe what’s happening. To say the police sound uninterested would be a huge fucking understatement, and I know I don't imagine the clearing of throats and change of tone when I mention it’s Barrow.
"Leave it with me," he says and hangs up without confirming my number.
Logan, who watched the whole conversation, shakes his head. "We’re getting nowhere."
"Nowhere," I agree.
"At least it’s logged."
"You think they’re actually writing down the details of our complaint?"
"Probably on a slip of paper and then disposing of it as soon as he’s off the phone."
We both sigh and I ball up a piece of paper I wrote the details of the report on and toss it at the wall. Logan reaches to the floor and picks it up, smoothing it out. "I know it’s frustrating, but we just need to keep our heads. Men like Barrow try to provoke a response. When they don’t get one, they get bored."