Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 130512 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 653(@200wpm)___ 522(@250wpm)___ 435(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130512 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 653(@200wpm)___ 522(@250wpm)___ 435(@300wpm)
Then she pulled away from me and motioned for Heather to follow her.
As they approached Logan, Channing moved around to me, grazing Heather’s hand as she passed.
“What do you need?” he asked me.
Fuck. This guy. We’d gotten close over the years. We’d always been friends, but the last few years, a tightness had formed between us, and I knew if I needed someone dead, Channing would handle it without blinking.
I didn’t answer him. Not yet.
I watched how Heather and Sam had a little brief meeting before they went in separate directions. Sam went to Logan, and Heather broke away to talk to one of the cops.
Channing settled in next to me where I was standing to the side. I was watching everything. He asked me, “Cops already talk to you?”
I nodded. “That same one your wife is talking to now. Tell me about him.”
“Ah, that’d be Detective Arroyo.” He moved a little closer, lowering his voice so no one could overhear. “He’s decent, but I’ll be honest, shit wasn’t good around the time my sister was in high school. It got better. Now it’s bad again. There are other players moving onto the scene, and Fallen Crest is in a tug-of-war between those players. There’s one cop I trust for what I need, but I can’t tell you who else I’d trust.”
“Arroyo?”
Channing shrugged. “Time will tell. I can have someone look into him.”
“No.” As we continued to watch, Heather broke away from the detective, and he headed toward me as Heather returned to Sam and Logan. I could see the torment in Logan’s eyes.
“Fuck.” He didn’t know what to do. I pulled my phone out and texted him.
Me: Go with Sam. Get drunk. Do what you need to do to let out some of the shit inside of you.
He looked down at his phone and drew in a deep breath. His fingers moved over his phone in a response.
My phone buzzed.
Logan: Got you. Sam will pull me back from the edge if I go over too, but once I let out enough of my shit, I want to be looped in. Got me?
Me: Without a doubt. Go get drunk. Rage. Do what you need to do right now.
He lifted his head. I hated seeing the anguish he now wasn’t holding back.
I sent another text.
Me: Go.
His shoulders slumped a little. Sam moved in and took his hand as she walked him with Heather to her car.
“You want me to call Monson?” Channing asked.
That question sucked me dry of every last semblance of… I didn’t even know. What Logan and I had just witnessed, what we’d heard, it was life-changing, and I’d been trying to deny some of it. At Channing’s question, I couldn’t deny it anymore.
Nate Monson was our other best friend. He’d been my first best friend growing up, and the two of us had gotten into too much trouble so his parents took him away for a while. I was too much of a negative influence on him. As soon as he could, he came back, but the dynamics were different. Sam was in our lives and Logan and I had gotten closer.
Eventually, Nate and I got close again. But bottom line? He was family. We were all family.
Lifting my phone, I pulled up his contact. As I hit his name, I put the phone to my ear and said to Channing, “Call Matteo.”
Nate answered, alert even though it was either fucking early or fucking late for him, “What’s happened?”
Channing was already moving away, his phone at his ear.
Nate knew. I didn’t know how, but it shifted something in me.
My voice went gruff. “How’d you know?”
“A gut feeling. I kept getting this bad feeling all night long. I couldn’t sleep and I’ve been driving Quincey nuts. We’re already packing our shit up and heading to the airport in twenty minutes.”
Jesus. I half laughed, wincing at the sound of my own voice. Hoarse. “You’re psychic now?”
His own voice went soft. “Tell me what happened, Mase.”
I readied myself, shoving my grief and shock aside so I could get the words out without fucking falling to pieces. The family was circling the wagons. As I told him, a part of me slipped away so I didn’t have to witness it all over again. “My dad shot himself tonight.”
He drew in a breath. “Fuck. Fuck.” He needed a second to process that too.
I waited, hearing his ragged breathing.
“Okay.” His voice came back, clearer. “Does Sam need Quincey there?”
I frowned, thinking. “Uh… I don’t know, to be honest. She and Heather are handling Logan right now.”
“I’ll ask her. This is what we’ll do. Babe…” His voice moved away. I heard his wife in the background, saying, “What?”
“Change of plans,” he told her. “Mason and Logan’s dad died tonight.”
“What?” she gasped.
It was hard, hearing her shock at the news.