Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 131651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 658(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 658(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
We both do.
I can smell her apple blossom aura. More caustic to my lungs than breathing inside a volcano.
Acid on my soul, an instant memory of how incredible it felt to take apart this forbidden fruit with my teeth.
For a second, she throws me a startled look, her eyes dark and lips parted.
We share the same thought. She’s just as deprived.
I’m not sure who stumbles back first.
“Bye,” she says, right before she slams the door in my face.
I stay planted where I am for one more second, taking time to compose myself before heading down to where Kit waits.
I know I’m being paranoid, but I hate leaving Cleo alone in the house, even if she won’t have her cousin’s bad luck.
Nothing’s happened since she moved in. The mercs who broke into the Blackthorn estate either fucked off or decided it’s too risky to try again, if they have any clue where we fled.
Logically, I know she’ll be fine.
I’m only a few minutes away. I won’t be gone long.
That doesn’t mean I have to like it.
Kit leans over my shoulder as I strap myself into the driver’s seat. “You should’ve brought her along to say hello to Gramps and Grammy.”
“And why would I do that?”
“Because. They’d love to meet her.”
“No point in them meeting her, Kit,” I lie, backing onto the road. Best we get this over with. “Don’t think she’ll even be back here after New York. She’ll want to get home. You know that.”
I hate that I sound so harsh.
But fuck, no fantasies. This has to be over.
“But she likes us!” Kit chirps. As if that should be enough.
“Of course she does.” Of course she likes you. “But that doesn’t mean she can pause her life to hang out with us. That’s not how it works.”
Kit sighs sadly. “It could, though, if you’d just let it…”
I hold in a sigh of my own, counting my blessings that my parents aren’t far.
“Kit,” I say gently. “When you’re grown, things get weird. Cleo has a life and so do we. I know you’ll miss her, but it’s better if she gets back to living, right?”
“Well, yeah.” She pouts. “But why can’t she live a little more of it with us?”
“She doesn’t want to,” I mutter.
“You’re wrong. I think she does. You just won’t let her.”
I go quiet for a minute.
I have to try not to let my frustration flare.
“It’s just not possible. Don’t know how to explain it more than that. It was nice having her around, but it was work. One last job for Mr. Blackthorn and his granddaughter. End of story.”
“Ooo-kay. If you say so.” Kit snorts, thoroughly disgusted.
That makes two of us.
To my relief, I turn down my parents’ road. Kit abandons her interrogation to gush over a dog we pass, thank God.
As I pull up outside the house, the blinds in the window swish. Dad’s already moving, opening the door before we head up to them. Mom leans heavily on her cane behind him.
My gut clenches.
I hate burdening them all the time when my mother’s mobility gets shakier by the month, but I don’t have a choice right now.
I have to jettison that jeweled horror.
If I want to bring us home, if I want to be the dad Kit deserves again, I have to get rid of it.
“Hey, Kit-Kat.” Mom holds out her arms and Kit runs to her, falling into a bear hug.
Even at her age, she knows better than to grip too hard.
My stomach twists again.
“Thanks for taking her,” I say, leaning in and kissing Mom on the cheek. “I appreciate it.”
“Don’t be silly, Holden! We’d be bored to death without our favorite granddaughter.”
“Your only granddaughter,” Kit says with a laugh.
Mom wraps an arm around her shoulders, and I carry her stuff in from the car.
“Coffee?” Dad asks.
It’s all so routine, no different from how cooking is for me. I just nod and let him get his prized espresso machine going. The iced Americanos have grown on me since he paid through the nose for it.
Mom rolls her eyes as he goes to work.
“Can’t pry him away from that thing,” she says fondly, nodding at Dad with his beans and his tiny weighing scale. “When your father said we needed a new hobby, I didn’t know he meant specialty coffee.”
“Don’t complain, dear. Where would you be without your caramel macchiatos?” he says with a wink. “She loves it, really.”
She sighs affectionately. “I just hate the noise and expense.”
“Won’t be much longer.” The grinder finishes working its way through the beans, and soon he’s packing the coffee grounds in for a perfect press.
“Tell me how everything’s going,” Mom says warmly, ushering me to the small kitchen table and bringing out plates. There’s half a carrot cake leftover she must’ve made earlier.
Another reason Kit doesn’t mind coming here. Mom keeps her stuffed with more sugary goodness than I’d bring home in six months.