Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 44211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 221(@200wpm)___ 177(@250wpm)___ 147(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 221(@200wpm)___ 177(@250wpm)___ 147(@300wpm)
He couldn’t live with himself if he ever hurt Everett.
A noise on the stairs alerted him to Everett moving through the house. He switched off the lamp and walked into the hall, making sure to make enough noise with his steps so he didn’t startle the man.
“Hey,” Everett said softly. “What are you doing up? Can’t sleep either?”
“I was just making rounds. Checking that the house is secure.” He could hardly see Everett in the darkness of the hall, just his outline as he walked closer.
“Want to have a drink with me? Being up in the middle of the night is pretty standard for me, but I’m usually alone, so I’d love the company.” Everett didn’t wait for an answer as he walked toward the bar in the family room. He flipped on a couple of lamps that threw soft light into the room. “What’s your poison?”
“Whatever you’re having is fine.”
“I’m in the mood for something sweet, so I’m having a little of my grandfather’s creme de menthe. He always sipped it in the evenings, so there are several bottles of it. He’s on my mind tonight, so it seems fitting. That work for you?” He glanced at Dax as he set down two tumblers.
Dax wasn’t a huge fan of the minty liqueur, but he nodded anyway. He took the glass and watched Everett move to the huge sectional couch. “Why couldn’t you sleep?”
“Insomnia is my nightly companion. I’ve always had trouble sleeping, but it’s been worse lately, and I’m old enough that I’m feeling it during the day. On the plus side, I do get a lot of work written in the early morning hours. I just finished a chapter of a new urban fantasy I’m working on.”
“I didn’t realize you published that genre.”
“I haven’t. But the ideas have been simmering for some time. With all my grandfather’s books, I have all the research I could ever need. I took a few to the room with me and got inspired while reading.” He patted the cushion next to him. “Sit down and keep me company for a few?”
Dax took the other side of the sectional. Sitting that close to the cuddly-looking Everett wouldn’t be good for him. He cradled the tumbler of clear alcohol—he’d been expecting it to be green—then took a sip. He raised his eyebrows in surprise at the hints of vanilla, lemon and white chocolate. “This is actually good.”
Everett chuckled. “It’s a little more complex than cheaper brands. Did you know that the green ones are full of artificial color?”
“I didn’t. I’ve never been a fan of the liqueur, to be honest.”
Everett waved his hand at the full cabinet of spirits. “You could have chosen something else, but I’m glad you gave this a try. When Wilson discovered this one, he stocked up because it’s not that easy to find in the States.” He looked down at his glass and swirled the liquid around. “But it makes me miss him more.”
Seeing Everett’s features tighten in grief sent an empathetic pang into his own chest. “Tell me about him.”
“Wilson was the best grandfather, and I loved him very much. He didn’t even hesitate to take me in when I lost my parents and he was grieving hard over their loss. My parents were close to him. We used to have dinners here once a week. After they died, he moved me in here as soon as I got out of the hospital and made me feel welcome and wanted. I couldn’t have asked for more.”
“You were in the hospital?”
Everett’s features tightened. “I was in the car with them when we had the accident, and…” He paused and visibly swallowed before looking at Dax. “It was my fault they were killed.”
Dax’s heart skipped a beat at the guilt that shadowed Everett’s features. “I’m sure that’s not true.”
“No, it is. I was eight years old and completely addicted to my Gameboy. My parents had taken it away for reasons I can’t even remember. But I was in the backseat, arguing my case, and my father turned to say something to me. A deer ran into the road, and my dad turned back and swerved.” He looked away, lips pinched tight. “I was in that car with my dead parents until the morning. Awake and in pain from a broken shoulder. I still…have nightmares about it. They aren’t as bad as they were when I first came to live here, but they still creep up on me at times.”
Dax’s chest ached at the story, and he leaned forward to set his glass on the coffee table. “Everett, you can’t blame yourself for something like that. It was an accident.”
“If my father hadn’t been arguing with me, he would have seen the deer sooner. I never told my grandfather about that part because the guilt was just so bad when I was a boy. Guilt and nightmares. At one point, Wilson moved my bed into his room because I was waking screaming so often, it was easier for him to calm me down. He was truly the best grandfather a boy could hope for.” He curled his legs under him. “He knew so many fun stories based in myths and lores from different countries and loved nothing more than sharing them with me. You’d think I would have thought to write paranormal stories earlier since I grew up hearing them.” He took a sip from his glass. “But I didn’t mean to bring us both down. Didn’t mean to share my grief.” He shook his head, then smiled. “Ever taken any classes on mythology?”