Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 155405 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 777(@200wpm)___ 622(@250wpm)___ 518(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 155405 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 777(@200wpm)___ 622(@250wpm)___ 518(@300wpm)
Lucky for him, I’m not fragile anymore. I can weather his rejection and cruelty without being as wounded by it as I was back then because I understand where it comes from now. I didn’t before.
“I think it sucks that he’s making you leave. Even if it is just for a couple of days. I think it sucks.”
Landon’s eyes narrow skeptically.
“I know you don’t like having us here. I’m sure it’s weird to have to share your space and your dad with other people after not having to for so long, but I really wish you’d give us a chance. You’re coming at it with this me vs. them mindset, and it doesn’t have to be that way. We want you to be a part of our family. We want to be part of yours. Things between you and your dad seem rough, but I don’t think it has to be that way. If you both gave each other a little more grace, maybe—”
Before I can finish, Landon grabs my hips and walks me back until I’m pressed against his car. “I don’t need your help mending my relationship with my daddy,” he says a touch mockingly.
My heart does a somersault. It’s not his words, but the way he’s looking at me that triggers it. I’ve never been more aware of anything than his hand on my hip. A strange tension starts in my lower abdomen as his fingers flex, his grip tightening in preparation of me trying to get away.
I swallow. “I was just trying to—”
“I know what you were trying to do.”
My heart beats faster as he holds my gaze. He’s so close, and my brain is malfunctioning. I know I should do something. I should push him away, or try to turn away from him, but instead I stand paralyzed against the side of his car. My lungs seem to have halved in size, making breathing more difficult. There’s a butterfly riot taking place in my lower tummy.
It’s quiet enough that we both hear the front door open.
Landon takes a step back.
My legs feel like jelly, but I inch away from the car and hold out the keys.
Landon snatches them, then opens the passenger side door and grabs his bag. He does it without glancing back or doing anything that would give the impression he’s even aware of the front door opening.
I’m not entirely steady on my feet, so I just stand here, but my gaze shifts to Mom standing in the doorway. I give a little smile and wave to let her know I’m okay. She returns both gestures, but doesn’t go back inside the house. She’s waiting for me.
Now that I’ve acknowledged her, Landon turns back with a smirk and a sarcastic little wave of his own.
He doesn’t wait to see if she returns it.
He turns back to face me, then he drops his keys into the palm of my hand. “Enjoy your peace, Johansson.” He starts walking down the driveway toward the road, but turns around long enough to say, “It won’t last for long.”
Chapter Eight
Parker
When I come downstairs the following morning, I don’t have to wonder if Landon has grabbed his breakfast and left, or if I’ll have a brush with him, or worry about how much damage he may do if I do have a brush with him and my mom witnesses it.
He isn’t here.
It’s the first time I’ve felt truly at peace since moving in with the Atwaters—aside from my brief stress vacation when I went night-swimming, but that peace was tarnished when I realized afterward I was being watched.
Probably.
I guess I never got verification, but in my mind, it’s canon. It totally happened.
There’s a middle-aged woman in a pale blue uniform with her salt and pepper hair pulled back in a bun standing at the stove when I come down.
She looks back at me, her dark eyes wide with surprise.
“I’m Parker,” I tell her.
“Hello, Miss Parker. My name’s Antonia. I’m Mr. Atwater’s housekeeper.”
I’ve never had a servant before. I’m not sure what to do. I glance at the island where I would probably sit and wait for breakfast most mornings, but it feels tremendously awkward to just sit there while a stranger makes me breakfast.
“Hayden mentioned you came twice a week, but I didn’t think it would be two days in a row.”
Antonia frowns. “This is my first time here this week.”
“Oh. Really? I didn’t see anyone yesterday, but Landon’s bed was made with such careful precision, I thought it must have been you.”
“Oh, no. I don’t make Landon’s bed. He strips the bedding for me to wash when I come, but he makes it up himself every morning. Always has.”
“Oh.”
Misunderstanding my confusion, she adds, “That’s his choice, though. I’d be happy to make yours if you’d like me to.”
“Oh, you don’t have to. I’ve never habitually made my bed, but maybe I could strip it once a week so you can wash the bedding?”