Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 91786 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91786 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
We ride our ecstasy until the very last second, and she collapses beneath me. I carefully take myself out of her, when I think I hear something. I freeze, the gentle sound as quiet as a newly-hatched bird. Did she say something? But she doesn’t look at me, and the sound quickly fades.
Was it my imagination? She can’t speak, so what did I hear just now?
I head to the toilet to get a warm washcloth, and come back to clean her up. In silence, we walk hand-in-hand to the ladder to the loft. She grabs her book along the way.
We don’t need to say anything at all, even if we could.
We fall asleep, wrapped in each other’s arms, in blissful silence.
The next few days, we have more simplicity than the previous. No drama or trips to the city. I look into seeing if there’s any blowback from Paisley’s boyfriends’ mates, but there’s not a word. MacGowen hasn’t seen Cairstina’s brother or mother since we left, and all seems quiet.
Too quiet.
I use the time to check in on the work my men are doing, pleased to see the income filling our coffers, the lads doing their best to keep things quiet and productive. It’s an unusually quiet lull.
Islan’s been training Bailey, and she’s right good at it. I help her a few days, reminding her that I want him to be a guard dog, to be able to defend us if need be. He’s a quick study, and occasionally Cairstina and I go to him.
“Watch this,” I tell her one day, bringing bits of cooked beef with me to train him. He runs to us and licks her hand, wagging his tail in greeting. Islan comes in with a dummy doll, a pretend burglar.
“Bailey,” I say sharply. “Get him!” I snap my fingers and Bailey lunges, tearing the cardboard into bits.
Cairstina watches with wide eyes, but pats Bailey’s head approvingly. The next day, she joins Islan with the training.
The mornings, we eat breakfast alone in our cabin or up at the house. Sometimes we text to converse, but often we sit in comfortable silence.
I’m afraid we’re getting used to this. And we shouldn’t. If there’s anything I know in my life in the Clan, it's that our lives are unpredictable. We never know when the next blow is going to come.
Still, I don't like to live my life in a state of suspended animation, so I do my best to focus on the job that I have to do.
Cairstina’s witty and smart, and it comes through nearly everything she does, from the conversations we have with text or handwritten notes, to the way she interacts with my family, especially Nan. She’s becoming a part of the life here, just like my men have.
The days pass like waves lapping at the shore, always coming, always receding, each day similar to the one before. But things are different with Cairstina here. I wondered if I'd be eager for some alone time again, but with Cairstina it isn’t necessary. She's quiet, and I know intuitively it isn't just because she can't speak. Silence is comfortable for her.
It’s not uncommon for me to come back from a meeting or a job to find her curled up on the sofa with a blanket, a roaring fire before her. I never leave her alone, and my men keep a close eye. Clyde is the one who often offers to watch her. Though he’s young, he’s strong and intelligent, and I’d prefer not to use him for a simple bodyguard position. He’s taken to her, though. We all have. Everyone who’s met her wants to be sure she’s alright.
Maybe it's because she's almost childlike with her inability to speak. But there's a winsome wholesomeness about her that makes you want to be near her. As if being around someone like her can heal you from your own brokenness. So I allow Clyde to watch over her, and when I return, he’s happy for me to take his place.
About a week after Paisley was injured, I wake up to an empty bed.
Where is she?
“Cairstina?”
I don't know why I called her, because she couldn't answer me. The very thought terrifies me. What if she ever had to call out for me and she couldn't? A text wouldn't do. The thought makes my belly clench along with my fists. I have to make sure she stays safe.
I go down the ladder, dressed only in my boxers, and look wildly around the cabin for her. She's not in the kitchen, and when I put my hand to the kettle it feels a little warm. Did she already make herself a cup of tea? I look in the living room, and the fire is completely gone. But she isn't there either. I open the door to go to the porch, hoping she's there even though it's freezing cold.