Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 134531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 538(@250wpm)___ 448(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 538(@250wpm)___ 448(@300wpm)
It was still odd, even after how much she’d proved herself to be kind, loving and genuine, to feel comfortable around Macy. To feel comfortable in this friendship without waiting for the other shoe to drop. I wondered if I would always feel like this in my relationships, never able to fully settle, to relax, always holding just a little back.
“We had a… disagreement.” My eyes shifted to the desert that was passing us by. There was still a large amount of houses down this stretch of road, but the farther we got out, the larger the space in between them was.
“A disagreement?” Macy repeated. “And what did you disagree about that caused an alpha male to abandon all of his senses—however misguided—which are to forgo all earthly delights such as food and sleep in order to be ready to protect you lest a piano fall from the sky?”
Despite the entire situation, I smiled at her question. Although each of the Sons of Templar men were remarkably different in almost every way, they did share a lot of important qualities. One being the over-the-top protectiveness that Macy was obviously an expert in.
“We disagreed about whether or not he should kill my husband,” I told Macy.
I supposed I could’ve hedged a little. But I knew when to pick my battles. Well, technically I didn’t—I didn’t fight back for a decade and a half—but Macy was not someone to let something like this go.
And I was dying to talk to someone about it.
I braced myself on the dashboard, wincing from the pain when Macy slammed on the brakes of the car.
“Jeepers,” I muttered, gaping at her. “Did that warrant stopping in the middle of the street?”
She raised a brow. “Yes, I think that did. Plus…” she jerked her head to the right. “We’re here.”
I looked to my right where, off the road a bit, was a small but adorable Spanish style ranch. The front garden was an explosion of colors, and there was no uniformity or symmetry to it. I absolutely loved it.
Behind the house there was nothing but sprawling desert, save for a collection of houses which were nothing but specs in the distance.
I was unsure about what this house had to do with anything. Maybe some friend of Macy’s lived here.
“You don’t want Preston dead?” Macy asked with interest but without judgment.
I turned to look at her. She’d pushed her oversized aviators to the top of her head.
It was somewhat surreal, talking about whether my boyfriend? Old Man? Was going to kill my husband with a beautiful, free spirited, fashionable woman who had become one of my best friends. One of the only true friends I’d ever had in my life.
I sighed. “I would like him dead… I think.” I screwed up my nose. “Don’t get me wrong, I’ve fantasized about him dying more than once over the years, but I’ve never really been in a situation where it was plausible that he’d actually die. I don’t know if I’m that bloodthirsty.”
I took a pause to rest. This much conversation was hard on my throat which was still burning. My head throbbed, and it hurt to breathe. I gazed out into the desert, remembering hands around my throat. The million times I’d been told I was stupid, fat, ugly, worthless. Those times, rare but not infrequent, when I’d laid awake in bed, Preston sleeping beside me, and I’d imagined going into the bathroom and taking a whole bottle of painkillers.
“Yes, I am that bloodthirsty,” I nodded.
Macy smiled. A smile that was also a little bloodthirsty and didn’t mesh with her hippy, ethereal image.
“But,” I raised my hand, “I have a child. A daughter. One it’s my job to protect.” I focused my gaze back on Macy who was listening intently. “And letting my…” I struggled to find a title for Preston to say out loud. “And letting Swiss kill him, no matter what I want, would be failing at my job of being a mother.”
Macy tapped her lips. “Fuck,” she muttered. “As much as I would love to see that fucker hung from his entrails, I tend to agree with you.”
I blinked at the visual, and at the fact the sweet, fantasy-obsessed Macy was talking about hanging up Preston from his entrails.
Before the conversation could continue, honking of horns sounded from behind us. Macy glanced in her rearview mirror.
Her lips stretched wide. “They’re here!” she clapped her hands. “We’ll continue this later.”
“Swiss will come around, though,” she informed me while pulling into the driveway. “Of course, he has to throw the alpha male tantrum, which pales in comparison to any tantrum we could throw, and looks a little more like something my three-year-old would have.” She put the car in park in front of the colorful, chaotic garden. “But my three-year-old does not have a semi-automatic weapon…yet.” She reached over to squeeze my hand. “He knows you’re right. Even though it goes against every instinct he has. His most important one right now is to keep you safe. And he doesn’t know how to do that after he’s already failed.”