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)
I’ve also heard enough.
So I turn my back on them—on Ros’ hurt, angry glare and the strangely knowing chuckle boiling from Aleksander’s mannequin-like throat.
As I turn to walk away from this circus, completely done with this crap, Aleksander’s voice drifts after me.
“See? It’s like we’re already family. Bickering just like siblings, Ophelia dearest!” he calls. “You just need to come to grips with that fact.”
Flipping creep.
I don’t need to come to grips with anything besides my mounting temper.
I stalk out of our shop and welcome the biting fall air that stings my cheeks until they burn.
I’m not in any mood for shopping anymore, or even to see Mom.
Honestly, I wouldn’t enjoy shopping when I’m this angry, and I don’t want to bring this bitter energy into the hospital. I might not buy into the New Agey energy healing stuff, but I can’t help thinking all this negative energy won’t do our mother any good.
So I just stand there restlessly for an agitated moment, ignoring the people strolling past with curious glances and rude whispers that always carry more than they think.
Sigh.
I’m so sick of being talked about like the town pity case.
I should just go home. Back to Grant’s place, I mean.
Except the house will be as empty as Mom’s with Nell in school and I’ll be stranded with my nerves, rattling around alone.
I shouldn’t be doing this when I start moving.
Yet somehow, my feet take me to the left, down the street, a few blocks away to the Redhaven police station.
It’s an old-timey brick building, smaller than most shops, and when I push the door open it’s easy to fit basically everything in one big room. There’s a broad wooden reception desk with an old computer sitting dormant, and beyond that the small cluster of desks where our small police force sets up to work when they’re not on patrol.
It’s still a little jarring for me to see Lucas Graves in a uniform, though it doesn’t surprise me when he was so dead set on finding justice for his sister, Celeste. He and Mallory Cross are the only ones in the office.
Mallory glances up with the same warm, genuine smile she always wears while her phone pipes something at her in—Korean? Whatever it was, it sounds flirty and dirty.
I can’t help a flash of disappointment that Grant’s not here, though.
I stand around awkwardly for a few seconds, lips parted, trying to pull an excuse for why I even came here—but there’s no need.
Lucas looks up from a few open folders in front of him. He’s settled at one of the smaller desks, his chair tilted back on two legs, feet crossed and propped up on the desk.
He gives me a shrewd, thoughtful look, then leans back and reaches over to rap on the closed office door with CHIEF BOWDEN stenciled on the frosted glass inset.
“Grant,” he calls. “Company.”
He gives me a knowing smirk that makes me want to march over and make up for every grade school spitball in my hair with a good, hard tweak to his nose.
“Glad to see you home, Miss Ophelia,” he says, his smile softening, a touch of sympathy in his catlike green eyes. “You doing all right?”
Just like that, I almost burst out crying.
It’s just this familiar face from my childhood, offering me kind recognition and a genuine welcome home. I can’t make a sound, my lips trembling.
No, I won’t cry when he just asked me a simple question.
But I’m relieved when the door to Bowden’s office swings open and Grant’s big, bearish frame slips out with more grace than any man that huge should have.
He takes one look at me, crosses the room in three long strides, and presses a heavy, hot hand to the small of my back.
“C’mon,” he says. “Come sit down with me.”
Swallowing and wiping at an escaping tear, I let him usher me toward Bowden’s office. As I pass Lucas, I offer him a watery smile.
He just snaps off a two-finger salute, his eyes glittering with quiet understanding.
I think he gets it, even though he never left this place.
By trying so hard to forget Redhaven, I forgot how many good people I left behind here, too.
I’m pushing the tears back by the time Grant leads me to one of the upholstered club chairs in Bowden’s cramped office and closes the door behind us.
Instead of reclaiming the chair behind the desk, he settles on the second club chair next to me.
The tiny space feels so cramped that his knees bump into my thigh.
I need that.
I need his presence.
I need him to fill the space around me, so nothing besides Grant can get in.
Maybe then I can push all the bad things out.
“Butterfly, what’s wrong?” he asks. Direct as always, but I’m honestly not used to him just coming out and asking me about feelings. “Did that stalker freak show up again? Did he hurt you?”