Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Eventually we can’t stall any longer. Tires crunch on the snow as I drive up the long driveway. The tightness in my chest winds like barbed wire as I look up at our house.
From the outside, it looks so normal. Perfectly, horrifyingly so. The cedar porch with the lights still strung up from when Dillon insisted we get festive early.
If I didn’t know any better, I would almost think nothing had happened here. But I do know better.
Crime scene tape still flaps weakly on the porch. Yellow ribbons waving hello like the worst welcome committee ever. The cops are done, the Feds have cleared the site, and we’re told we can begin repairs.
When we roll all the way up the drive, I put the car in park, but I don’t move. My hands stay locked on the wheel, my knuckles aching from the grip. My pulse hammers so hard my fingertips tingle, but it’s not that I’m afraid of the house, or the memories, or even the motherfucking mob.
No, what pins me in place is the thing I felt inside me during the fight. That switch. The familiar click of that darkness I warned Boone about. The version of me that doesn’t feel fear or mercy, it just starts doing math. Constantly calculating angles and threats.
End them before they end you.
I didn’t lose control that night, but God, I came close. If Roxie didn’t appear exactly when she did, I would have, and stepping back into the place where that part of me stretches, hungry and ready… I don’t know what it would have done to me.
Will it wake up again? Will it stay awake this time?
A soft touch on my arm breaks through the spiral. Roxie’s hand is gentle as she gives me a reassuring squeeze. “Chance?”
I look over to find that she’s turned fully toward me, her vibrant green eyes warm, steady, and filled with understanding. She gives me a small, genuine smile. “We don’t have to do this today if you’re not ready.”
She means it. Fuck, I can see the sincerity in her gaze. If I put the car in reverse right now, she’d just nod and hold my hand the whole drive back down the mountain.
But we do have to do this.
“The insurance adjuster is coming tomorrow,” I remind her quietly, my voice not quite working the way it should. “We need photos of every inch of the mess before anything gets cleaned up, so we kind of do have to do it today.”
That’s one reason, anyway. The other reason, the one I don’t tell her, is that I need to face this place. Now. Before the fear grows teeth and the darkness inside convinces itself this house is where it belongs.
If I run today, I’ll never stop running. I know that. I just need a minute to steady myself. I take it, exhaling slowly and sliding my hand into hers. “We should go in now.”
She studies me for a beat, so goddamn perceptive it almost hurts. “Are you sure?”
“No,” I admit, the word coming out low and rough. “But I need to do it anyway.”
Facing the darkness doesn’t mean surrendering to it. All I have to do is remember that. When Roxie squeezes my hand, it reminds me who I’m doing it for, because that’s what will get me through this.
It’s not just me anymore. Not even just the two guys I grew up with, who have become like brothers to me. It’s them too, but it’s also her. The girl I never thought we’d find who can love all of us for exactly who we are, and the babies currently growing in her belly.
My babies. My family.
“Then we’ll do it together,” she says as she reaches for the door handle. “Come on, tough guy. We’ve got this.”
She sends me a smile that takes some of the weight off my chest, enough that I can finally open my door and step out into the cold mountain air. Dillon and Boone pull up behind us as I round the car, but I don’t wait for them to catch up.
Snow crunches under my boots as I start toward the front door, my feet feeling heavier than usual, like every step toward that house is a step toward something I’m not ready for. But with Roxie’s hand in mine, I keep going.
We step through the front door together, and even though I brace myself, the impact hits like a physical blow as I look around. This isn’t the view I remember from the entryway.
In fact, the destruction is pretty fucking complete. Shattered glass crackles under my boots, bullet holes pockmarking the drywall like some demented connect-the-dots picture. Most of our furniture is overturned, shredded, soaked, or all three. There’s a dried smear of blood on the floor by the stairs where Boone tackled an intruder and another near the couch where I sat after getting hit.