Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 67755 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67755 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
“Oh. That kind of can.”
“That kind of can, brother. That kind of can.” Ransom leaps off the bed, and the thing bucks like a wild animal, but miraculously, it doesn’t break. “Now that you’ve seen the light, I can be on my way. Good chat.” He thumps me on the shoulder, then stalks out of the room in his big black boots with his signature long-ass stride. He waves a few fingers in the air behind him as he walks out the door.
I need to sit down. Just for a minute. Things are getting hazy and black again. I make it to the bed and go down hard. I’m already rehearsing words, trying to figure out something romantic, as Ransom said. No, not just romantic. Something true.
All of a sudden, the bed groans, shudders, and collapses into a pile around me.
Mother. Plucker. I really hope I have better luck than this in the Maldives.
CHAPTER 17
Azalea
Mom is doing dishes in the kitchen sink, which overlooks the front yard—the condo has a strange layout, but at the same time, we get to overlook the backyard this way at least, which overlooks the water and our own strip of beach, so that’s kind of nice. From where I’m sitting, I’d rather have that view than the street. Suddenly, Mom looks up and freezes.
My heart starts going double time, and lately, it picks up at the slightest provocation, so that’s really saying something. I’m not sure it’s returned to a resting beat after I gathered my parents, told them as much as I could, and left Florida.
“There’s a beast of a man on the front sidewalk,” Mom gasps.
I rush over to the kitchen sink and shove her aside using a swift hip check. Really, I just want her away from the window and out of the line of sight, but she thinks I’m being my usual boisterous self. It’s more than boisterousness I feel when I catch sight of the said beast of a man. He’s dressed all in black. A full suit, as per usual, even though it’s hotter than a mother out there. I suppose he’s used to the heat. He did spend a good amount of time in Florida.
“Who’s that?” Mom shoves me with her hip, nearly sending me flying to the other side of the counter.
“Who’s what?” Dad calls from the living room.
“Nothing,” I say.
“Nothing,” Mom echoes, but she gives me a shady, questionable look.
When Mom draws both brows down over her eyes, you know she’s not messing around, and right now, those brows are dangerously low. She’s asking me if I need help, if I’ve gotten myself into something I can’t get myself out of, and if I’m in over my head. They only know so much, but she’s a mom. Even if she didn’t give birth to me herself, she raised me from the time I was a baby. And she also really gets me.
“Who is that really?” she whispers.
I notice her hands are still dripping sudsy water all over the counter and the floor. We’re both standing there, her with her lowered brows and me with my mouth hanging open like a fly trap. I swear stupefaction is more effective than all the sticky fly papers in the world.
“Well, Mom, uh…that’s my husband.” I lean in and tamp a hand over her mouth before she can scream or ask me a thousand questions. Also, I move in closer to her, supporting her with my weight, so she doesn’t faint. Not that she’s a fainter, but in this case… “I promise I’ll answer all your questions as soon as I can. I…I know he’s not supposed to be here right now. I wasn’t expecting him, and I don’t know what’s going on, so you’re going to have to put that thought on pause.”
I lower my hand, and Mom huffs. “You better believe it’s going to be unpaused as soon as you get your tushy back in here.”
“Alright, I promise. Stall dad if he comes out of there.”
“He’s not coming out. He has a plate of cheese and pickles, and his murder mysteries are on. He’s good.”
I kiss Mom’s cheek and smile at her as reassuringly as I can. It’s hard to do, given that my heart is beating somewhere around throat level, and it’s impossible to swallow, let alone force my facial muscles to get their act together.
I rush outside, flying down the front steps and onto the small patch of grass that belongs to our rented condo. The day is bright and fine, as beautiful as any other day in a tropical paradise.
“You know, I really thought you’d change it up and go somewhere cold,” Alden says as soon as I stop in front of him, gaping for all I’m worth. “But this is nice too. Nice condo. I like the orange.”