Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 138642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 555(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 555(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
Boom.
There go my insides again.
He’s just too good at scrambling them without even breaking a sweat.
Because not yet means that someday, he just might.
And he gives me a lazy, knowing smile, before sobering as he says, “Must be something in the air today setting things right. I’ve just been talking with Mr. Law and I’ve learned some things you ladies ought to know.”
27
ONE TRICK PONY (GRANT)
I don’t think I’ve ever seen a sight more beautiful than all three Sanderson women together, happy, and whole.
Ros looks a hell of a lot more like herself after a stint in rehab.
Angela might as well have come back from the grave. There’s a second life infusing her with a radiance that seems too big for her rail-thin body.
And Ophelia—fuck.
My woman shines when she looks at me, her eyes overflowing with pure love.
Every morning, waking up next to her, I still have to pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming.
How the hell did this become my life?
I still don’t know.
The way she fits right in like a missing puzzle piece to complete my soul seems too natural.
Without any warning, I’ve got a whole family.
It’s almost too easy looking after Nelly-girl together, making our house, doing damn near everything together.
It shouldn’t be this easy after the tragedy and scars and absence.
But I guess that’s the thing about old wounds.
Once you stop picking at them, they start healing awfully fast.
And healed is what I am.
I’m a new man, greeting each morning with a smile because I get to love Ophelia Sanderson like she never left.
Can’t say I care if it feels too easy sometimes.
Maybe love is worth fighting for, but true love ought to come natural. Being with someone who just fits you so well that not even ten years apart can change how you mesh together.
That’s not to say the last few weeks have been a cakewalk.
Ophelia’s still been beating herself up over everything.
For not knowing enough, for not protecting her little sister, for not pulling some magic rabbit out of her hat that would bring her mother back to life.
Even if she doesn’t say it out loud, a man can tell.
Only this time, instead of pushing me away and crawling up in her head, she let me stay.
Let me hold her on those cold creeping winter nights when her soul got too heavy to bear.
Let me kiss her tears away.
Let me see those little moments of shaky hope as the calls came in from the specialists every day, confirming steady progress by inches for her whole family till she knew they would be out of the woods.
Then that beautiful, grateful personality came out in full joy.
The same joy she’s showered me with over and over again.
Sometimes with her words.
And sometimes, it’s just the way we get tangled in the sheets, fusing our bodies together like we were always meant for each other. So wrapped up in ourselves that sometimes we forget to sleep.
There are a few mornings I dragged myself in to work completely worn out and haggard. Sleepless because I couldn’t get enough of her.
Got plenty of shit for it, too, when every last one of the guys knows exactly why I’ve got bags under my eyes.
The only one I haven’t threatened to punch yet is Lucas—mostly ’cause he went through the same bullshit when he finally captured his hellcat of a wife.
Goddamn, I can’t wait to devour Ophelia again tonight.
But now isn’t the time.
Now, I’ve got to reach down in my gut and find the right words for this news.
Grabbing the one free chair in the room, I drag it over to where they’re all clustered like birds, nesting around Angela’s bed, the girls perched on the edge and all of them clinging to each other.
Well, fuck.
I’ve never been cut out for this.
A hundred years as a cop wouldn’t make this any easier.
Never been much good with words, either, but somehow for Ophelia, I learned to speak my mind without snarling them. To be honest rather than sliding into harshness.
Unfortunately, with the shit that needs saying today, this can’t be gentle.
Yet it’s Philia’s encouraging gaze that makes me dig deep, find my voice, and speak.
For her.
Because she needs this.
They all do when they’ve been waiting far too long.
“I know what happened to Ethan,” I begin slowly. “The whole story of the night he disappeared. I knew he never would’ve left us willingly. I know those bones belong to him—forensics confirmed it this morning. And now I know without a doubt that he had nothing to do with what happened to Celeste Graves. That he tried to save her. That he’s innocent. It won’t bring him back, no, but it lets us have our memories without any nagging questions. Without more wishing or guessing or doubts.”
I’m expecting the tears.
What I’m not expecting is that it makes me panic anyway, freezing up as all three Sanderson women look at each other—then burst into rolling grief, grabbing each other, burying their feelings in a big group hug.