Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 138981 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138981 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
“Sugar?” I call.
“Just one teaspoon. Or some honey. They’re both in the pantry.”
“Got it.”
I don’t like how her voice sounds, small and thin, her usual fire gone.
It leaves her sounding gone, like she’s left her body and gone someplace where the real world can’t touch her. That makes me move faster, this desperate need to get back to her, even if there’s only a few feet and a wall between us.
I load up my own cup with sugar, drop one teaspoon in hers, pop in tea bags, and grab the kettle before it squeaks. No point in scaring her with that thing screeching like an angry cat.
Steaming tea in hand, I step back into the living room, passing her a mug before I set my own down on the table.
“Breathe it in.”
“Y-yeah.” She bows her head to the mug blankly, inhaling the steam, her shaky fingers cradling the blue-glazed ceramic so tight. When she looks up, her gaze is so vulnerable. “What did you want to talk about? I think I already told you everything about Roger, but I can try to remember more...”
“Not that. Fuck Roger,” I snarl, shaking my head. I settle on the couch and stretch, propping my arm on the back—offering her a place at my side. “Before we talk, I gotta ask—do you want to stay here tonight? Or do you want me to take you to The Rookery? Or even my place?” I half smile. “I’ll sleep on the couch. No charge for pillows this time.”
A tired smile flickers across her lips.
She looks at me slowly before she collapses against my side, kicking off her sandals and pulling her legs up against her side.
I try like hell not to notice the thin shorts they’re clad in tonight.
She’s a warm, soft bundle against me, so short she can’t pillow her head on my shoulder. Instead, she rests her temple to my chest, her dark hair spilling over her shoulder on my side.
“I’m a little scared to be here,” she whispers. “But not if you stay. Going anywhere else feels wrong, even if it might be the smart thing to do. It feels like running.”
“No shame in running sometimes. It’s survival instinct.” I hold in a sigh, letting my arm cradle her shoulders. “Hell, I wish my sister had cut and run. Maybe she’d still be here.”
Delilah’s brows knit together. She looks up at me from under her long lashes.
“Your sister? Is that who you were talking about, that thing about missing someone?”
“Yeah.” I hesitate. “You remember that?”
There’s that shaky smile again, there and gone in an instant. I wish I could make it stay.
“I listen to you more than you think, you lunk. Except when you’re pissing me off.”
“Will you listen to me now without getting pissed?”
She snorts softly. “You’re in luck. I don’t have the mental energy to lift my middle finger tonight.”
I chuckle, but damn my throat feels like I’ve got a noose inside, closing up my airways and choking off my voice.
Goddamn.
It’s been so many years, and it still rips me up inside to even think about talking through this.
Guess it’s a little easier with Delilah’s warmth curling into me.
“This is gonna sound crazy,” I force out. “But after I’ve said my piece, I think you’ll understand why I get such a goddamned stick up my ass about Ulysses Arrendell. Yeah, he’s a nice guy—a little too nice. I don’t know what the hell he knows or how complicit he is in the shit they do up in that house on the hill. That whole family’s rotten to the core. Trouble is, their roots in the town go so deep it’s almost impossible to cut them out. They own everything—and everyone.”
Delilah bites her lip, tapping her fingers against her mug as she takes a slow sip.
“So, what? It’s some toxic family thing where Ulysses is just caught up in the generational cycle? I’ve met a few people like that. Lived with a few like that. Most of my foster families were in the game for the social clout, bragging about how much they loved themselves for being so generous to a useless brat like me.”
My frown drags down my face.
I sure as hell hate hearing her talk about herself like that.
Makes me want to bust a few faces belonging to any assholes who made her feel that way once. Probably not my place to say it, though, so I just squeeze her shoulders tighter, curling my hand against her arm, taking pleasure in the quiet way she snuggles into my side.
“You’re not useless,” I say, sinking deeper into the sofa. “And it’s a little deeper than that whole family acting like they’re straight from a goddamned V.C. Andrews novel. It’s...” I pause, blowing out a sharp breath. “I don’t know where to fucking start.”