Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 157162 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157162 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
“You have to let us help.”
Maybe I spoke too soon.
I shook my head. “You can help me by being extra on guard while I sort this shit. Anyone strange in town, any tails you pick up, you treat as enemies.” I wiped sweat from my brow. “I am not afraid of death, Kip, but I’m terrified of having to bury my family because of my choices.”
My voice shook, even as I used all of my strength to keep it steady.
Kip looked out at the waves, shoulders tense, knuckles white around his water bottle.
“Does Elliot know?” he finally asked, looking back at me.
I picked my cuticles. “No. He’ll try to get involved in something that is way out of his depth and would get him hurt or killed. I’m not letting that happen.”
“If it were Fiona—”
“We’re not talking about you and Fiona. And you are trained to do all this shit. Elliot is not.”
I didn’t add that Elliot had only just recovered from being caught in a burning building by a fire set by the man I used to sleep with. Kip might’ve remembered Jasper as a teenager, but he didn’t know him as a man. I intended to keep it that way.
He gripped the back of his neck. “You don’t need to be trained by Uncle Sam to protect your woman, Calliope.”
“And I’m not a woman who needs a man to protect her, Kip.” Indignation bled from my tone. “I am going to handle it.”
He wanted to argue. I knew he did. Because he loved me. Because as progressive as he was in many ways, he was still unable to kick the notion that it was the man’s job to do the protecting. Every fiber of his being was calling on him to do that.
But Kip also knew me and had plenty of demons of his own. I prayed he’d understand why I came to him. Why I’d decided that he, of all people, would understand my need not to drag family members into the situation for fear of losing them.
“You cannot die, Calliope.” He suddenly sounded hoarse. “I don’t for a second doubt your ability to take on any bad motherfucker out there. But you cannot let anything bad happen to you. I’ll never forgive myself.”
I nodded, though my skin stung from his words hitting my body. Kip already had plenty of ill-gotten blame on his shoulders over the death of his wife and child. “I don’t plan on it. But if I do, it wouldn’t be your fault.”
He shook his head. “You’re putting me in an impossible position. Lying to my best friend. A man I respect. My wife. Since I know that she’ll try to interject herself into this shit too, and I’m not letting that happen.” His voice became flat, he sounded determined, his expression grave.
Kip did not fuck around when it came to Fiona’s safety. And though he’d never say it out loud, never fully admit it to even himself, he would sacrifice me in order to keep his wife safe. Something I was immensely happy about. It was my safety hatch.
“Hold on to that,” I pointed at him. “The thought of you saying something and it hurting your wife. Because it will. If you let anyone catch a whiff of anything we’re discussing, they will involve themselves.”
It was cruel of me to use his past against him, but I had to be cruel to protect everybody I loved.
This was just the start.
“You need to get this shit handled soon.” Kip narrowed his eyes at me, mouth a flat line. “Because there’s only so long my big mouth stays shut. Only so long you can keep the wolves at bay.”
“I’m aware,” I nodded, swearing I could hear those metaphorical wolves scratching at the door.
Time was not on my side. And it was past time to set my plans in motion. Whether or not I was ready didn’t matter.
My next task was not one that was cruel, though I expected a battle.
We were at Elliot’s place. As we were often these days. Rowan’s held all of my possessions, had a larger closet, an ocean view, more space, a much larger bathroom. Though all of my numerous skin care products were cluttered on Elliot’s small, single sink. Creature comforts I was used to.
Yet I voluntarily stayed there, in Elliot’s small space with a meager closet and a criminally small bathroom because I liked it much better there. Because I was with Elliot. His cottage was somehow becoming a home that a 1,000 square foot penthouse hadn’t been in a decade.
If we ate a home-cooked meal, he cooked. Since my efforts consisted of putting together a cheese board or a toddler-friendly meal which was usually mac and cheese or crackers.
Otherwise, I ordered in, dined out or ate cans of tuna.