Series: Webs We Weave Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 126927 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 635(@200wpm)___ 508(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126927 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 635(@200wpm)___ 508(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
“That’s not in me.” His gaze dips to me, wary. “How about you don’t murder me?”
“Deal,” I reply.
We’re on a trust teeterboard. Going back and forth with having confidence in each other.
We keep a slow pace, and Jake starts talking. “Our parents were hard on Kate. The only girl of the family. She was pushed at every moment.”
“They planned her whole future?” I’m guessing. I’ve seen it before among affluent families. They place their hopes and dreams on one specific child, and it’s suffocating.
He nods once. “Her life was dictated to the smallest degree.” He lets out a tight laugh. “My mother had a weekly schedule for her, and Kate never even had time to eat lunch. Dance recitals, morning tutoring, after-school French lessons—once she mastered that, then Dutch and Swedish. Equestrian events, charity galas, tennis, book club—the list never ended. If there was a minute untouched, my mother touched it.”
I look over at him, a pressure rising in my chest. If there was a minute untouched, my mother touched it. I understand what it’s like to be used.
Smothered with backhanded affection.
Trapped.
It’s easy for me to feel for Kate, but even easier to feel for Jake. The depth of his empathy for his sister is . . . relatable.
I hate that it is, because again, never be seduced by others’ emotions.
Thing is, he’s not trying to play me. Or outwit me. I believe he’s just being frank. Candid and truthful. And I’m just the cynic afraid to lower my guard.
Jake stares ahead, emotion barreling through him. “Every year, I saw her get smaller and smaller. Sadder and sadder. And then one day . . .” He takes a beat, his eyes welling and reddening. “I caught her in the stables with Bowie. She’d taken a whole bottle of our mom’s Vicodin . . . I got her to the hospital in enough time.” He gazes out at a large oak tree. “I thought . . . things would change for her after that. I thought our parents would change for her.”
Our shoes crunch fallen leaves, and Jake comes to a stop near a babbling stream.
He twists around to face me, more resigned than angry. As though he’s accepted what his parents are, and I’m not even there when it comes to my own parents.
Fury isn’t dormant in me. It’s living, breathing. Awake at every step, every turn. But I’ve mastered the art of control, just so it won’t consume me.
Jake holds my gaze. “Nothing changed. When Kate got home, they just went back to their normal routine like it never happened.” He skims my features. “You don’t seem surprised.”
“These social circles aren’t foreign to me,” I remind him, since I’m supposed to come from Manhattan. Raised in New York. “Your parents were more afraid of the social repercussions of admitting their daughter almost took her own life than they were of losing their daughter. I’m not shocked they didn’t want to self-reflect and question whether they could’ve been at fault. Because even if people want to look in a mirror, sometimes they spend their whole lives convincing themselves there are no flaws.”
I’ve never wanted that to be me.
I intake a breath. “And I appreciate the backstory, but how did that get you here? To where your sister isn’t actually dead?”
“We were out riding one day. A trail farther north.” He points in the direction. “And we came across some old remains. A battle in the American Revolutionary War was fought around here, then the War of 1812. The bones could’ve been that old, I wasn’t sure at the time.” He pauses. “But once I saw them, I saw an opportunity for Kate to leave town and get away from our family for good.”
“You staged her death?” I question, unable to be impressed since I’m stunned it wasn’t a ploy concocted by his entire family.
It was just Jake.
He nods. “They were bones. Not the body of a girl who had died a week or month ago. So she had to disappear. I bought a little cabin in a remote area . . .” He trails off, deciding not to share the location, and I respect that. “I drove her there. She stayed, and I came home alone to the fallout. There were search parties. It was even in the news. ‘Daughter of Koning Beer Empire Goes Missing.’ ”
“I saw,” I say.
“You looked me up?”
“You’re my sister’s landlord and now my ex-wife’s fake boyfriend—if I didn’t dig into your family, I’d be a fool.”
Jake wears a weakened smile. “After a year passed with no news of Kate, I made sure another search party went out in the right direction.” We both look to the north. “They found the remains, which turned out to be from the late 1700s, but I paid the coroner to say it was my sister.” He winces. “I’m paying the coroner.”