Series: Webs We Weave Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 145038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Jake has talents. Plural. His lack of patting himself on the back is making me want to take out a Jake’s Awesome ad. Hoist it in the air, pass around flyers, buy a billboard, print it in the Weekly.
“Are you okay?” I ask him, more concerned as his breathing sounds arduous and his eyes hold a steady glare. It pushes me to say more. “Trent was wrong. You’re not talentless. Really, I think he’s jealous of everything you have going for you, which is a lot.”
Jake tries to calm down. “I don’t really care what my brother says about me. It’s like a fart in the wind.”
I let out a surprised laugh. “Did you just make a joke?”
“A small one.” His lips begin to rise, too.
I share his smile.
Jake is very secure about who he is. It’s admirable…and it reminds me of Rocky. No one can tell them who they are.
Jake peeks out the store window. As if half anticipating Rocky will rush out of McIntire’s to find me. I’m fully anticipating his arrival, and I’m trying not to be disappointed if it doesn’t happen.
Then we check to see if any bookstore browsers are around. Coast is clear.
“How long were you at the bar with Trent?” Jake asks, hushed.
“I don’t know,” I say truthfully. “It’s not like Rocky and I knew he’d be there.”
He can’t stop shaking his head. “You shouldn’t be in a room alone with him.”
“Rocky was there,” I emphasize. Did he not see him?
“He can only do so much, Phoebe,” Jake whispers with a type of raw concern that tries to cut me open. “This is torturing him…and you.”
“It’s always been a little bit of torture,” I murmur with slight heat. “It’s what we’re used to. It’s what we’re good at.”
Jake swallows, then shakes his head again, staring at a kid’s stuffed pelican. His eyes glass and become bloodshot before they reach me. “Your parents abused you—after what they did to you six, I feel like a monster for using what they taught you for my gain.”
“Don’t,” I choke out. “My mom was kind to me. I loved her. They gave us so much—”
“They took so much more from you, Phoebe.”
I know they did. I sit with this for a beat. “I think Rocky could always see that in a way we couldn’t. We were so blinded by love, but they couldn’t shine a light bright enough at him.” I choke on a strange laugh. “And he could’ve left us, you know? He could’ve walked away, but he never did. He stayed for us even though he hated them.” I stare dazedly around the bookshelves. “Now we all hate them…and we’re still working with them.”
Addison and Elizabeth have remained in New York, with the occasional pop-in to spend a lunch or two with Claudia. They’ve been giving Claudia reasons to think I’m low-class trash and not worthy of Jake or the Koning name. Even going as far as making her paranoid that we might be getting engaged.
His mom’s distaste for me is helpful. She’s become ruder, and I hope she continues losing tact. It means she’s more likely to do something awful.
Everett has stayed in Connecticut, strangely. He’s slithered his way into the Koning estate. Jake’s father hired Everett as staff manager for the housekeepers, groundskeepers, pool boys, private chef, etc.
“It’s hard to see whether we could do this by ourselves,” I whisper to Jake. “I’m more scared of trying to do it without them and failing, because failing means…” Death. It feels like death, at least.
He reaches out and holds my hand. Not in a romantic way. It’s just pure comfort, purely consoling. “I’m not going anywhere, even if it does fail. This is my home, and some things are worth sticking around for.”
I nod robustly. I think of Hailey racing around for The Hunt. I think of Nova out on the Salty Miss staring up at twinkling constellations in the night sky. I think of Oliver grinning as he picks out tacky sweater-vests for the Ugly Sweater Run. I think of Trevor trying to be involved in everything. I think of Rocky…
Of his laughter when I fell on the ice rink during the Winter Wonderland Festival. Of how he skated effortlessly closer and helped his sister up—and then teased me.
It’s not about the quirky events. We’ve all been more ourselves here than anywhere else. Our relationships to each other have never been this real in one place, one city, one town. Not until now.
“I think I know what you mean,” I say so quietly.
His gaze drops to me. “I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad he’s here with you, too. That you all are hoping to create something for yourselves. And the only peace I really have is knowing I can fight for it with you.”
It feels comforting knowing he will. “You’re a good guy, Jake.”