Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 112249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 561(@200wpm)___ 449(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 561(@200wpm)___ 449(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
“I told you, it was the pizza place. As far as I heard, the cocktails were seen on the security camera coming in through the front window.”
“Yeah, but the truck and mustang burnt, too. You can’t tell me a couple of firebombs in the front are doing that to the back, Malachi.”
Fair enough.
The cop who’d called to question Malachi because Nader provided the officers with his information—with valid reason as he’d been in the apartment leading up to that night—hadn’t gone into details about the arson or what they’d suspected. Even the comment about the security footage had been a mistaken slip of the tongue that the officer warned Malachi not to share lest it impede their investigation.
He kept his word.
Mostly.
Chip didn’t count.
One of the few people in his life who Malachi had allowed to become intimately acquainted with the family and religious sect he’d left behind before he was even a man, Chip didn’t hide the fact it all made him a little nervous. Including when Malachi returned to his hometown.
“And he’s still not reached out to you, eh?” Chip questioned.
“Who?”
“Your friend—his place burnt.”
Oh, Nader.
“No,” Malachi confirmed. “A mutual friend mentioned he’s working in his father’s mechanic shop and has been attending the church.”
Three nights a week, in fact. Nader had also reverted to wearing church-approved clothing, and didn’t seem to be communicating with other friends—besides Malachi—outside of the sect’s congregation.
Malachi had already been long gone the night the fire happened, so he didn’t pretend to understand the kind of effect it had on Nader. Nonetheless, his friend was also an adult who could make his own decisions about his life. Whether that was quitting his old job, attending church and integrating back into his family’s world or cutting all his communication off to Malachi. It was all up to Nader.
Even if it was slightly concerning.
And a bit suspicious.
“I worry about him,” Malachi admitted. “Hate to think they’ve roped him back in because of me or something, you know what I mean?”
Chip muttered a non-agreement. “Yeah, that’s tough.”
It wasn’t as if he and Nader had talked every day of their lives before they suddenly didn’t, but they communicated enough between text and the occasional phone call that Malachi couldn’t help but notice the lack of it.
He didn’t get as much as a text from Nader after the night of the fire. Like the man had been told to end all communication between the two. At first, it certainly felt purposeful, but he didn’t necessarily have the proof to say as much. He still didn’t have the actual proof, but Malachi now believed it to be fact simply by default.
There was no other reason.
Chip sighed loudly. “Well, whatever you do, stay the hell away from anybody attending that church. Just in case there is a firebug who gets excited at the sight of your face.”
Malachi blinked at the idea.
Was that the case?
“And call me,” Chip added, muttering.
“When—for what?”
“For anything, Malachi. Call me if you need me. I’ll see what I can make happen. Besides, I’m not doing very much for the next week, either.”
“Yeah, okay, Chip,” he returned, but not seriously.
Malachi didn’t want to make that call. His business with Gracen Briggs had nothing to do with his estranged family, the church, or his stepfather. Not once did he try to make contact with anyone—including his adult-aged sister who could also make her own choices at the end of the day—when the radio silence from that side of things spoke louder than anything he had to say, anyway. For once, he would actively try not to poke the sleeping bear.
Shouldn’t that count for something?
Malachi thought so.
Before telling Malachi goodbye and hanging up the phone, Chip added, “Just keep it in mind. My phone’s always on.”
Malachi would remember but couldn’t promise to use it.
Best case scenario?
He wouldn’t have to.
*
Gracen’s head popped into view through the bay window in the kitchen seconds after his bike rumbled into the driveway. Well, alongside it, technically. She watched him through the front glass with a growing grin as he walked the bike backward, still sitting on the seat, into the grass. There wasn’t a lot of room in the driveway between Gracen’s car and the empty spot where Delaney’s Jeep should be.
He could hear her tapping on the glass. She pointed at him with a pinched expression—his surprise worked.
By the time Malachi had stepped off the bike and hung his helmet from the handlebar, Gracen had made her way out to the front stoop. He walked her iced coffee across the small front yard, not paying the passing cars in main street any mind. Just the beautiful girl grinning his way.
She was all he wanted to see, anyway.
“I was expecting a phone call from you right about now,” Gracen muttered, playing at being angry.
Malachi had the audacity to smirk. “You’re not really mad at me.”