Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 102754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
I chuckled, even though she was right, too damn right. This temporary break—this illusion of peace—wasn’t sustainable. The outside world was still waiting, and soon enough, we’d have to go back to answering it.
But even as her words settled, my thoughts drifted elsewhere. I hadn’t heard from Kemble in days, which was unlike him. He usually sent me pictures of the kids, updates about their weird little milestones, or dumb memes at random hours. At the very least, I’d get a text every day—sometimes a few. I’d messaged him twice to check how they were holding up through the storm, but he hadn’t responded. Maybe they’d lost power and couldn’t charge their phones, or perhaps they were too busy keeping the kids warm and fed to worry about texts.
Still, the silence gnawed at me.
He lived only two hours away—not exactly across the world. If I needed to check on him, I could make the drive. But even the idea of something being wrong with him or the kids sat wrong in my gut. Kemble wasn’t just a friend—he was family. The closest thing I had to a brother. The guy I’d crossed nearly every milestone of life with—every first, every fuck-up, every win. We’d been literal partners in crime when we were younger before life shoved us into our current roles.
“What are you thinking?” Sayla asked gently, squeezing my arm. Her voice was soft, but it cut through the fog.
I blinked, pulling myself back to the present. “Kemble. I'm just wondering if his generator went down or if they’ve just been offline. It’s weird not hearing from him this long.”
She turned in my arms to look at me, her expression sympathetic. “Now that the storm’s passing, I’m sure they’ll get the power back soon. He’ll probably text or call the second he’s able to. Maybe they’re focused on the kids and trying to make sure everything’s okay on their end.”
I nodded, but it was more out of habit than agreement. “Yeah. Maybe.”
The weight in my chest didn’t ease, though. Between the storm, the ticking time bomb that was work, and this sudden silence from one of the people I trusted most in the world, I felt off. Like I was bracing for something I couldn’t quite see coming.
Letting out a breath, I released Sayla and stepped over to the back door, calling softly to the dogs as I cracked it open. Cold air rushed in, biting at my skin, but the dogs came bounding toward me, tails wagging, full of life and energy. At least someone wasn’t feeling the weight of everything right now.
Maybe I was overthinking it. Perhaps I just wasn’t ready for the storm inside to start up again now that the one outside had finally calmed.
But either way, I could feel it coming, and I wasn’t sure how ready I was.
Chapter 11
Sayla
Aweek had passed since the worst of the snowstorm, and life outside was slowly clawing its way back to normal. Plows had groaned down the street for days, salt trucks had passed like clockwork, and neighbors had been shoveling what was left of the snow off their walkways, muttering about frozen pipes and cracked gutters. It was the kind of quiet chaos that came after nature threw a tantrum.
Inside my house, the cleanup was just as intense.
My dad stood in the middle of the living room, arms crossed over his chest, staring up at the gaping hole in the ceiling with a grimace like it had personally insulted him. Bits of insulation still clung to the floor like dust bunnies from hell, and the smell of water damage lingered faintly in the air.
“Jesus,” he muttered, for what had to be the tenth time in five minutes. “That bath didn’t just leak, it exploded.”
I closed the box I’d just finished packing with what was salvageable from the hallway closet. “Yeah, Dad, we know. You’ve said that multiple times.”
“But look at this.” He turned, gesturing wildly. “The floor’s probably warped now. You’ll need a full ceiling replacement, and I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s water in the wall cavities. That could mean mold, so you need to get that checked. And the wiring up there—God, don’t even get me started—”
“Dad.” I rubbed my temple. “The insurance adjuster was here this morning. They’re covering the ceiling, the floors, the bathroom, the electrics, and yes, the walls. They already agreed in principle to pay for the repairs. You can take a breath.”
He gave me a look like I’d just told him I was planning to rebuild the house using bubble gum and fairy dust. “I’m just saying—there’s probably more wrong with it than they think.”
“There’s always more than they think,” I muttered under my breath.
My irritation was bubbling, but I bit it back. Dad meant well—he always did—but the constant doom-and-gloom commentary was starting to feel like an extra layer of damage I hadn’t insured against. Add to that the noise, the mess, the clutter, and the fact that my house no longer felt like mine, and I was dangerously close to snapping.