Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81150 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81150 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
My pledge should mean nothing to her, but with a sheepish grin that announces she’s apologetic for the sorrow on my face, she accepts it, bobs down to collect the spew bucket from the floor, and slips out of my room via the bathroom a second before Lucy enters my room via the main door.
Impulses have me wanting to chase Henley down, but with a lot of what she said making sense, I scoop my daughter in my arms and tickle her stomach. “What are you still doing up, missy moo? You were meant to be in bed hours ago.”
“I forgot Uncle Thane snores!” she replies while scrubbing at her eye with her balled hand.
“Uncle Thane is already asleep?”
Lucy shakes her head. “No, he’s out there.” She thrust her hand at my partially open bedroom door. “Spying on you.”
“I’m not spying,” Thane refutes, proving Lucy’s assumption is on the money. After pushing open the door his shoulder was propped against, he says, “I was going to fetch a glass of water for Lucy when I realized the bathroom was occupied.”
“You could have gone to the kitchen.”
“Yeah, Uncle Thane, you could have gone to the kitchen,” Lucy repeats, backing me up. “You scared Henley away.”
“That isn’t what happened.” I don’t know why I’m tossing Thane a life vest. I should let him tread water alongside me since it was the jealousy he instigated that fueled my fight with Henley. “Henley was feeling better, so she went downstairs to heat up some leftovers.”
“That doesn’t sound like someone who feels better,” Lucy contradicts when the sound of someone being sick slips through the floorboards. After wiggling to be placed down, she says, “I’ll get a washcloth.”
“No!” I shout, stopping her. “It is time for you to go to bed. For real this time.”
Thane looks misty-eyed when I hand him Lucy. It is understandable when you learn I haven’t left her in the care of anyone but Ms. Mitchell since I was regranted custody of her six weeks shy of her first birthday, and that was only because Ms. Mitchell survived three months of intense one-on-one training. I shadowed her for weeks on end. If she hadn’t passed with flying colors, I wouldn’t have returned to work.
Considering that would have left a heap of bad guys on the streets, I’m glad she was as tenacious as I am stubborn. She raised Lucy how I would have if I weren’t tracking down my wife’s killer, and never once forced me to face the guilt I dumped on Caroline when I didn’t understand she was more than a wife and a mother.
I made mistakes back then, big ones.
I won’t do it again.
18
HENLEY
Whoever said death isn’t painful lied. It hurts. A lot. My head is thumping, my body is aching, and my neck is kinked like I spent the night sleeping upright.
It dawns on me that is in fact the case when I slowly crack open my eyes. I’m on the three-seater couch in the living room, leaning on something that feels stiff and poky.
My heart rate jumps astronomically when I discover what is propping me up. It isn’t a pillow. It isn’t even a what. It is a who. A very handsome who even though he appears as if his sleep was as lackluster as mine over the past few nights.
Brodie is slotted on the couch next to me. His mouth is slightly ajar as his chest rises and falls in rhythm to his faint snores. He’s wearing a white sleeveless undershirt similar to the one he wears while jogging, and it announces that his hard work the past week is paying dividends. Almost every bump my eyes drink in is muscle, even the ones in his midsection that I liked a little squishier.
His dad bod suits him as much as his chin-length hair and frown lines.
The giddy feeling overtaking my hangover gets sideswiped when portions of my night filter back into my head. My argument with Brodie. The chugs of vodka. The fool who wouldn’t take no for an answer.
My eyes bulge when I remember Brodie’s fist flying through the air a second before he pulled me behind him. I warned the men that there’d be consequences for taking me. I had no idea they would come in the form of Brodie.
The memories stop at Brodie’s impressive fighting skills. I recall a talking helmet and a dread unlike anything I’ve ever felt, but the rest is a fog.
“Oh god,” I groan when I stretch high enough to spot a bucket at my feet. It is empty, but droplets of water have dried along the rim, announcing it was recently cleaned.
I should have known I’d be a messy drunk. It gives Beau’s numerous requests for me not to drink more credit. I thought he was worried about his club being busted for underage drinking. How stupid was I?