Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 110360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 441(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 441(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
Her breath hitched. God, her hope was suffocating.
“Johnson’s gone,” I continued, “but I can see if Arrow’s guys will help with a sweep. One on the perimeter, one inside. We clear the building before you ever step out of the car.”
And just my luck, she started crying again. Though this time the tears slid over a heart-stopping smile.
“And we don’t use a fucking car service, okay? We take the SUV. We park in the back. You go in through a service entrance. You get five minutes. Ten if everything stays clean. You stand where I put you. You say what you need to say. And when I tell you we’re leaving, you don’t argue. You don’t look back. You walk out with me. Understood?”
“I can do that.” She smiled so wide it stirred something inside me.
I fucking hated it.
But I hated it more when she wrapped her arms around my middle, pressing her chest to my front, all soft gratitude and zero sense of personal boundaries.
My skin burned as I stood there, a wall of don’t-touch-me that she clearly could not read.
But I had shit to do and did not have time to shut her down, potentially earning myself an encore from the ice queen and her spinach omelet.
Or at least that was what I told myself as I waited entirely too long for her to release me.
7
LOFTON
“I am so sorry,” I choked, a steady stream of tears falling from my eyes as I stood over Marty’s lifeless body. He looked awful and plastic. The image would haunt me nearly as much as when the paramedics carried him out, covered in blood. “You didn’t deserve this.”
“Lofton,” Devon called from the doorway, his voice gentle but firm. “We need to go.”
I fought the urge to argue, but we’d already been there far longer than the ten minutes he’d originally allotted. Though I could have had all the time in the world, and it wouldn’t have been enough.
I drew in a shaky breath. “Okay, I’m coming.” I turned back to Marty and reached inside the casket to pat his chest. “You get some rest now. Oh, and give Mama a hug for me.” Leaning down, I pressed a kiss to his cool forehead. “I love you. Bye, Marty.”
My heart screamed objections as I turned to walk away. I came to an abrupt stop when Devon appeared at my side.
He bent at the waist, one large hand braced on the edge of the polished wood casket, his head dipping low as he murmured something meant only for Marty. My curiosity piqued, but it warmed me knowing he knew Marty well enough to warrant his own goodbye.
When he straightened, he was right back to business. With his face blank and jaw tight, he placed his hand in the small of my back. “Stay close,” he ordered, guiding me toward the exit.
I fell into step beside him, my heels clicking against the tile as we weaved through the empty hallways of the funeral home. I had no idea who had let us inside, as I hadn’t seen anyone since we arrived other than two men who Devon had informed me worked at Arrow.
The same two men were standing on either side of the back door as Devon shoved it open. The warm night breeze was suffocating to my lungs, but it dried the tear tracks on my cheeks.
“Thank you,” I told the men as we passed.
They both nodded, silent and stoic as ever.
Devon escorted me to the black SUV, opened the door, and then waited for me to get situated in the back seat before shutting it. He rounded the hood to the driver’s seat, jerked his chin at the two men, and then climbed inside.
For such an overwhelmingly emotional act, the process of arriving and leaving was surgically sterile.
He hadn’t spoken much to me throughout the day, which after I’d acted like a fool, had been a blessing. Whether my behavior was from grief, trauma, or as Brooke liked to call it The Lofton Beck diva routine, I owed him an apology.
The SUV hummed beneath me as Devon merged onto the road, the city bleeding past the tinted windows in streaks of light. It was late, or early, depending on who you asked. For me and my usual ten pm bedtime, it was late and I was exhausted.
I sat in the backseat, passenger side, my hands folded in my lap as I nervously toyed with the hem of my sweater. “Hey,” I said quietly. “I just wanted to, um, say I’m sorry.”
His eyes stayed on the road, his posture rigid. “For what?”
“You know, this morning. I wasn’t thinking straight and just…lost my cool.” I blew out a hard exhale, embarrassment clinging to my throat.
He didn’t immediately respond, and as the silence stretched, I regretted opening my damn mouth at all.