Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 91286 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91286 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“I can do it,” Frank offers.
I pull myself out of the chair. Sitting here moping isn’t going to change anything. “No. I don’t want her scared away on the first day.” Though something tells me she doesn’t scare easily.
He snorts at my poor attempt at a joke.
Somberness quickly takes over again as I pause to admire the view from our little slice of heaven, the water rippling, a pelican soaring above, the oat grass swaying in the slightest breeze. “It all feels like it’s crumbling, doesn’t it?”
Frank reaches out to gently squeeze my shoulder. “We’ll figure it out. We always do.”
I force a smile to try and quell the voice screaming in my head.
Not this time.
This time, I’m pretty sure we’re about to lose it all.
25. Ronan
The Bronco jolts and bumps as I hit the countless potholes racing up Sloane’s driveway. Connor would be screaming if he could see me abusing Darla like this, but I don’t give a fuck about his vehicle or my unemployment or anything else.
Sloane is pregnant?
How the fuck is she pregnant? I mean, I know how, but she said she was on the pill. It had to be that first time, here at the house, during our big seasonal hiring weekend. That embarrassingly quick, twenty-second fuck against the wall.
How long has she known?
When did she find out?
She definitely knew on Tuesday. She spat that pricey champagne out, suggesting it had gone bad. As if we’d be serving spoiled Cristal. How did I not figure it out then?
Probably because I’m twenty-six, I’ve been living the rake life, and fatherhood is the last thing on my mind.
I’m not going to lie, the moment Abbi uttered those words was a gut punch. I nearly doubled over in shock. It was quickly followed by frustration—that Sloane hasn’t told me. She’s had plenty of time and chances. I’ve spent the last two nights in her bed with her.
But she’s afraid to tell me because, according to Abbi, she thinks I’ll bail.
She literally watched me torch my career this morning—for her!—but she thinks I’m that guy? She thinks she needs to deal with this without me?
Why, is it because we barely know each other?
Or is it because this whole thing means way more to me than it does to her?
Fuck that. I need answers. I feel like I’ve shown her all of my cards, and she’s shown me none of hers.
My hands curl tightly around the steering wheel as I reach the house. Her Cherokee is gone, but Frank’s truck is here. Hopping out of the Bronco, I charge for his Airstream, the hens scurrying away as loose gravel scatters with my steps.
A loud thud draws my attention toward the beach, and I quickly change course around the house to where Frank stands next to a pile of rocks, shirtless and wiping sweat off his brow with his forearm.
“Where’s Sloane?”
He peers over his shoulder, his tanned brown skin red-tinged from the heat. His perpetual scowl fades a touch when he sees me. I guess that’s progress. “She’s already at the dock. Probably about to leave.”
I check my watch. “Shit.” Now I’ll have to wait three hours until she’s back in to get answers.
Frank rests his elbow on a propped shovel. “Why, what’s going on?’
“Nothing. I need to talk to her.”
I get a head-to-toe appraisal of my board shorts and T-shirt. The first thing I did when I got to my office to clean it out was change. “So, you know.” It’s not a question.
“I know what?” I ask warily. Does Frank know?
Wait, of course he does. When I told him about Henry’s plans last night, Frank said something along the lines of this being the last thing she needs right now. This is why. Because he knows she’s pregnant.
He shrugs.
I’m not getting anything out of him unless he wants to give it.
Frank ambles about thirty feet over to the fire pit and, after adjusting his work gloves, collects a small boulder with a grunt, his giant, muscular arms straining under the weight.
“You’re moving the fire pit.”
“Figured I’d do it while Sloane’s not here, seeing as it’d break her heart to watch.”
I study the pile of soot-coated rocks. This pit’s been in that exact spot for decades, Sloane said last night. Home to gatherings every night of each high season. Countless memories formed.
If I’m learning anything about Sloane, it’s that she values tradition and family—both blood and found—above all else.
He lugs it over, dropping it next to the others. I hadn’t noticed the orange spray paint before, with lines marking the new pit’s location and whatever else he has planned. He’s marked x’s in the sand around it. I assume to gauge space for chairs.
“Not like we have a choice, unless we want to pay five hundred bucks a day every time your general manager reports us.”