Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
I never really considered myself a caretaker. As an eldest child, I was better at management, at oversight and delegation. I didn’t do the soft shit. The back rubbing and the hand holding. My sister was better at that. Hell, Croft was better at that.
That lack of history didn’t change the fact that I suddenly found myself wanting to take care of Carmen.
I wanted to pick up some of the slack. Wanted to take some things off her plate. I wanted to be someone she could come to and unload when she’d been holding everything in for too long.
“Morning,” Sofia said, voice sleepy.
I glanced over, seeing her cheek all pillow-creased and her hair bed-messy.
“Morning. How’d that sleep audition go?”
“Oh, God,” Sofia said, burying her face in Hammy’s neck. “They were orcs. Orc producers. And they wanted me to do my monologue while doing calisthenics.”
“Did you get the part?”
“Nope. Jennifer Aniston was there. Dressed as a goth. She got the job.”
The laugh that escaped me had Carmen grumbling in her sleep, then snuggling closer.
Sofia sat up, her smile soft.
“She’s different with you. I feel better leaving knowing she has you.”
She didn’t, though.
Not in the way Sofia thought.
“What time is check-out?”
“Eleven.”
“Okay. I’m gonna jump in the shower and take Hammy for a walk. Then we can grab some breakfast before heading out.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
And there was no good reason for the way my stomach twisted at the idea of checking out, of helping the girls put their luggage in their car… then watching them drive away from me. All the while knowing I wouldn’t have an excuse to travel all the way up to Carmen’s neck of the woods again. At least not until I found the Jon asshole and took him out once and for all.
Then I could go see her. Tell her that we could finally close that chapter of our lives.
It was Sofia closing the door as she took the dog for a walk that had Carmen stirring.
There was a second when she still clung to me.
Then she flew away from me, eyes wide, almost unseeing for a second.
“Just me,” I told her. “You passed out about a third of the way through the movie. It was like movie night with my great uncle.”
That got a snort out of her.
“Where’s Sof?”
“Hammy.”
“What time is it?”
“Nine.”
“Nine? I slept in ’til nine?”
“Seems like you needed it.”
She exhaled hard. “I really did. Sorry if I drooled on you.”
“You slept like the dead. Your sister had an audition with orcs. Then lost the role to a goth Jen Aniston.”
“Not nearly as interesting as the time she got the job over a punk Brad Pitt.”
I made my way across the hall when Sof came back and Carmen went to take a shower.
That sinking feeling I felt only intensified as we all packed up our rooms then headed downstairs to grab breakfast.
“So, are you coming back to the house?” Sof asked.
“I’ve probably monopolized enough of Rune’s time.”
“Monopolized? That’s a weird way of putting it,” Sofia said.
Carmen’s eyes went round, remembering the cover story.
“Shooting aside, I’ve had a good time with you guys. But I really should be getting back.”
“Would you mind dropping Carmen home, though?” Sofia asked.
“What? Why?” Carmen’s brows pinched.
“I’m meeting the massage guy, remember? I don’t know him well enough to invite him to the house, so…”
“Ever ridden on a bike?”
“I have not,” Carmen said, glancing over at it. “Are they as dangerous as the medical TV shows claim?”
“Yep,” I said, nodding. “But it’s a short ride. And I’ll go slow.”
“All settled then. Go on. Get going. Carm has the Chicken Lady today.”
“The Chicken Lady?” I asked as Carmen and I walked to the parking lot.
“I have a client who has a house chicken.”
“A house chicken?”
“Yep. Her name is Paulatry. She has her own giant enclosure, but also runs around the house wearing a bird diaper.”
“You have strange clients, baby,” I said, grabbing the helmet.
“You only have one.”
“Yeah. Wasn’t planning on having anyone riding bitch.”
“Excuse me?” she asked, eyes narrowing.
“I’m not calling you a bitch,” I clarified. “Riding on the back is called ‘riding bitch.’”
“Oh, okay. I was gonna say. But you’re not allowed to ride without a helmet.”
“I’ll risk the ticket.”
“And your skull?”
“Better mine than yours,” I said, pushing the helmet down on her head, then adjusting the strap.
“Okay. So now what?”
“Now I get on and you climb on behind me. And you hold on.”
“But what about, like, when you take turns or—”
“You just hold on. I’ve got the rest.” I climbed on and looked over at her. “Trust me.”
That was a big ask for someone like her.
But she only hesitated for a second before climbing on and scooting close.
“Am I supposed to put my arms around you now?”
“You can hold on just with your legs if you want.” But I was reaching back for her arms and pulling them around me. “But I like this better.”