Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 129207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
“Oh, ummm yeah, of course,” I say. “But I’m not sure who owns it now, and I doubt I’ll be able to go inside.”
“We could always try,” he suggests. “Besides, it shall give us something to pass the time while you wait to see if your friend is happy to host you for the next two weeks.”
I don’t bother to tell him that Madds will be a screaming yes followed by a string of suggestions on how to spend our time, but the thought of getting to see where Axel built his life here is too good of an opportunity to pass up.
“Okay, let’s do it.”
The driver smiles at me through the mirror, and without skipping a beat, he puts his foot on the gas, and we sail through the busy streets of LA. It’s almost a thirty minute trip to the gated community the boys live in, and as the driver puts in the code for the main gates, I find myself sitting up a little straighter.
A strange wave of nervousness crashes through me, and as the gates open and he drives into the gated community, I find myself staring at every property we pass. It’s only a minute before we drive past Ezra’s home, and a flutter settles deep in my stomach just thinking about the life we could have had there together.
As he continues, I find myself straining to see around the coming corners, desperate to see the roads Axel would have traveled every day, the homes he would have passed, the neighbors he might have known. It’s only a minute before the driver begins to slow, and he eventually pulls into a driveway that’s overgrown with shrubbery.
My brows furrow. Clearly whoever lives here now hasn’t been taking good care of the gardens. Axel wasn’t much of a gardener, but I imagine he would have hired someone to care for his property.
My driver lets out a breath as he pulls up next to the keypad for the big gate at the top of Axel’s driveway. “Any ideas?” he asks, referring to the code.
“Ummm . . . Try his birthday. June fifth. 0605.”
The driver leans out the window and puts in the code before shaking his head. “Not it. Any other suggestions?”
“Uhhhh, my birthday, maybe,” I suggest. “1103.”
He tries again and when the little keypad beeps, the driver glances back at me. “We’re in luck.”
My eyes widen. “No way! It worked?”
As if on cue, the gates start to roll back and a wave of happiness rumbles through my chest. Why wouldn’t the new owners change the gate code? Seems a little silly, doesn’t it? I mean, the only people buying homes in this area are those searching for privacy and a great security system. Surely it’s counterproductive not to change the passcodes from day one.
The driver hits the gas again, and we roll through the gate and up the long driveway as I gaze out the window, completely mesmerized. This isn’t exactly the kind of property I envisioned my brother living in, but there’s so much I didn’t know about him in those last few years. I’d forced so much distance between us that I failed to get to know the real him.
He asked me a million times to come out here and visit him, and I hate that I never had the courage to do it.
The further up the driveway we get, I start to wonder if someone is actually tending to the property. While the shrubbery near the front gate is overgrown and a little wild, the gardens closer to the house are neat and tidy where the grass, while a little long, is manicured without a single weed to see.
The house is huge, just as big as Ezra’s, and I can only wonder what life would have looked like for him here. Did he have to yell to have a conversation with someone in a different room? Did he run through the long hallway in his socks, just to see how far he could slide? Did he actually love it here or was it just a house to keep his possessions warm?
“Did you want to try the front door?” the driver asks, indicating the grand stairs that lead to the entrance of the home.
“Oh, I don’t have a key.”
“I could be wrong, my eyesight isn’t quite what it appears to be, but it seems no key is required. It looks to be a keypad entry.”
My back straightens as my gaze flicks to the door, seeing the keypad he’s referring to. “Shit. Is it technically breaking and entering if you used the code? Like, this isn’t a felony, right?”
The driver glances back at me and shrugs his shoulders. “To be quite honest, Miss Stone, I haven’t got a clue. I’m sure this could be classified as trespassing, but I’ve always been an opportunistic kind of man, and when something stares you right in the face, why not grab it with both hands? If, and that’s a big if, there is any fall out, we’ll deal with it later. For now, why don’t you go see the home your brother created for himself.”