Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 65239 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65239 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
I passed on outings with my friends and invitations to weekend getaways to Westhampton with relatives when one of my parents needed a hand.
I was their saint. That’s what they all called me because I was always the one who would drop everything in his life to make someone else’s better.
I’ll still do that, but with the knowledge that people think a saint can do no wrong. I can do wrong, and I have.
I was busted by my mom for being drunk when I was fourteen, and I got pulled over for speeding on my drive up to The Buchanan School after a weekend in the city when I was seventeen.
The police officer found a small zip-top bag in my pocket. I had smoked the weed that had been in it days before, but the scent still lingered. He detained me and reached out to my parents to fill them in on what had happened.
My mother swore I’d tarnished the family name. My dad told me to double-check all of my pockets before I set out on the open road again.
Neither of those things compared to my transgression when I was days short of my eighteenth birthday. I’d taken one of my senior classmates to the ground with a punch to his face. I did that after I caught him bullying a freshman that couldn’t defend himself. I got in the middle of it because I had to. It was that simple to me.
It earned me a month-long suspension from The Buchanan School, and I was banned from graduation ceremonies. All of that was the result of my being arrested for the punch. The charges were dropped, but I felt the impact of that night for a long time afterward, mainly because I’d let my dad down.
“Saint!”
I glance over my shoulder when I hear that name and the familiar voice attached to it.
Declan, dressed in jeans and a black sweatshirt, smiles at me as he jogs along the sidewalk with a white paper bag in his hand.
It’s rare for me to see my brother like this without the power suits and styled hair.
He looks like the fifteen-year-old kid who got a tattoo on his chest by flashing a fake ID at a tattoo shop on the Lower East Side.
I give him a once over. “That’s a look, Decky.”
Coming to a stop beside me, he runs his hands over the front of the shirt. “I’ve already been here for an hour. I found this in the storage room. What do you think?”
I tug on the hood. “I think it’s too fucking tight. Can you breathe?”
“Barely.” He huffs out a laugh. “I ran out to grab us some dinner.”
I glance at the bag. “What did you get?”
“Chili fries and loaded hot dogs.” He grins. “Remember when we’d sneak this into my room? Mom was never the wiser.”
Happy to burst his bubble of oblivion, I pat his shoulder. “She always knew. Dad would keep her at bay by dancing with her.”
Both of his brows pop up. “You’re serious?”
“Dead serious.” I smile. “Since they’re in Florida, we can enjoy our dinner on mom’s best dishes and crack open a bottle of granddad’s scotch.”
He shakes his head. “We’ll be in supreme shit if we do that.”
“I’m not going to tell.” I start walking toward our parents’ home. “Are you?”
“No way in hell,” he says from behind me. “But let’s leave granddad’s scotch alone. There are only three bottles left. He wanted each of us to open one on our wedding days.”
I wait for him to catch up, so we’re walking side-by-side. “Why wait for that? Ava can never get married because no man on this earth is good enough for her. Besides, you’re a confirmed bachelor for life, right?”
“You never know what tomorrow brings, Sean.” He inches ahead of me. “I’ll race you to the door. First one there has to carry the heavy boxes out.”
He takes off in a sprint.
I watch him from behind, feeling damn lucky that I’m his little brother.
Chapter Forty
Callie
I heave a sigh of relief as I step into the cool night air. My shift at Tin Anchor tonight was busier than usual, but it was definitely worth my while.
I walked out of there with more than seven hundred dollars in tips. With shaking hands and tears of joy welling in my eyes, I shoved it, along with my tips from last night, into one of the plain white envelopes that Gage keeps in his office.
I just dropped that envelope into the hand of a trusted friend.
I glance over my shoulder one last time to see him tucking it into his pocket.
“Calliope?” That voice, with its deep melodic tones and toe-curling rasp, is as unique as the man it belongs to.
I turn to my right to see Sean approaching me.
Panic shoots through me.