Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 141464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Downstairs is quiet and shadowy. Only a faint glow spills from under the door to her dad’s office.
Not wanting to run into him, I head straight for the stairs, pulling off my gloves as I go.
I’ve got the sandwich in one hand, and the cookies tucked under my arm like some kind of pathetic peace offering. Here’s a lukewarm, soggy sandwich and a handful of cookies—sorry I’ve been such a dick.
I reach the top step just as her door swings open.
There’s my girl. Standing in the bright light of her apartment, she radiates peace, happiness, and every other good thing I never thought I wanted.
I hesitate, feeling like a demon trying to sneak past the pearly gates.
“Are you coming in?” Margot asks.
“Yeah.” I hurry and cross the threshold. I push the bags of food into her hands. “I brought you something from Remy’s. It’s probably cold and soggy by now and the cookies are probably—”
She stares down at the crumpled paper bags in her hands and smiles. “Thank you. I haven’t eaten yet.” She walks toward the kitchen and sets the bags on the counter, then turns toward me with raised eyebrows.
She’s not distracted by the food. Nope, she’s waiting for answers. I unlace my boots, toeing them off and setting them next to her shoes, then shrug off my cut and hang it by the closet.
By the time I finally face her, she’s got the sandwich on a plate, two glasses of sparkling water poured, and the cookies spread out on a napkin.
“You didn’t bring anything for yourself?” She gestures toward the sandwich as she hops up onto one of the bar stools.
“Uh, no. I ate there.”
She stares at me for a few beats, then picks up the smooshed sandwich and takes a bite. Her eyes close and her lips gently curve as she slowly chews.
“Still warm.” She dabs at her lips with a napkin. “And only a little soggy.”
I blow out a breath. “Good.”
“I hope you’re not here just to talk about the condition of a chicken sandwich, though?”
I love the gentle way she calls me out on my bullshit.
“No.”
She takes another bite and side-eyes me while my mind races to put the last few days into words that make sense.
By the time she takes a sip of water and sets her glass down, my tongue’s still frozen.
“Okay.” She swivels her stool to face me. “Let’s start small. Where’ve you been the last few days?”
“Around. Took a ride to Maine.”
“What’s in Maine?”
“Ocean. The beach.”
Her lips pinch with annoyance. “The closest beach to us is actually in Connecticut. New Jersey, Rhode Island, and Cape Cod are all also closer. While I love Maine, why did you go there?”
“To clear my head.”
She takes a long, deep, irritated breath. “Okay. Let’s try this again. You left here the other night and said Z needed help at Crystal Ball. So what kind of stripper emergency made you cut off contact and ride all the way to Maine to ‘clear your head’…” Her voice trails off and she frowns. “Did you discover that you knocked up a stripper or something?”
The idea’s so absurd that laughter explodes out of me.
Margot’s frown deepens.
Oh, shit. She’s seriously worried about that. I reach over and wrap my hand around hers, squeezing gently. “No. Absolutely not.”
She sighs. “So, what happened?”
“A…family thing.”
“Is Jezzie okay?”
“Yeah, she’s fine. Still having fun at her job.”
“Good.” She picks up a fork and knife, pushes the bun off the sandwich and cuts a small piece of chicken off.
“My half-brother showed up looking for me.”
Her fork clatters against the plate.
She turns to fully face me and rests her hand on my thigh. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”
I stare into her eyes, ashamed to admit how fucked up Cain’s visit has me.
“Because when you asked if I knew whether it was possible that I had other siblings out there, I lied.”
She blinks as she absorbs the truth.
“The girl who helped me leave,” I continue, “was pregnant when I left.” I close my eyes in disgust. “She was a kid herself. Only sixteen at the time.”
Margot wrinkles her nose.
“Yeah, I know,” I say, acknowledging her obvious disgust. “I met him when I went back for Jezzie.”
I explain every part of that day in as much detail as I can remember and when I’m finished, Margot doesn’t run screaming from her apartment or ask me to leave.
She slides off her stool, pushes her way between my knees and slides her arms around my middle, squeezing me tight without saying a word.
After a second or two, I wrap my arms around her, holding her close. The painful wires that wrapped around my lungs the night Cain showed up slowly unwind and I can finally breathe.
“I love you, Jensen,” she whispers in my ear.
I shared some of the most evil things I’ve ever done, and she still loves me.