Total pages in book: 168
Estimated words: 164910 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 825(@200wpm)___ 660(@250wpm)___ 550(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164910 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 825(@200wpm)___ 660(@250wpm)___ 550(@300wpm)
I turn the dryer off and set it down, continuing to smooth down the girl’s hair.
I didn’t help my mother, but I can try with Anna-Katherine.
“AK?”
She swings her legs a little. “Yeah?”
“You know he’s not your…real brother, right?”
Her legs stop moving, and I know it’s cruel to say, but she needs some perspective. She needs to fight for herself instead of trusting others. Someone needs to say it just once.
“He calls you his stepsister,” I point out. “Not his sister.”
Her shoulders shrug. “Oh, that’s okay.”
She’s trying to make light of it, but she’ll be a lot better off if she starts asking some questions and taking responsibility for herself.
“You’re not Anna-Katherine to him.” I stroke her hair with the brush. “You’re Sophia.”
I hear her swallows and her head bows a little.
“Callum is going to turn into him,” I tell her.
He may always love her and try his best, but the stress and darkness of his world will spill over onto her. Maybe it’s an associate who gets ahold of her at a party here. Maybe the Wolfe Room finally has its way with Callum’s head. Maybe he has to send her away to keep her safe.
She won’t be the princess of their own personal castle forever.
“He likes me,” she says, fighting for him. “He cares about me.”
“He does. You thought Garrett did, too.”
She sucks in a breath, and before I can dial it back, her head is shaking back and forth. Like it did when she was freaking out with Callum.
Fuck.
“No, no, no…” She starts crying, hunching over.
I throw the brush down. “Anna-Katherine, look at me.”
But she jumps off the stool, runs around me, and escapes back into the foyer, her footfalls hitting the stairs in heavy steps.
“Shit!” I growl.
Son of a bitch.
“Anna-Katherine!”
I charge into the foyer and start up the stairs, hearing her cry. Why the fuck did I say that to her?
Am I right? Yes. She should be thinking about herself and protecting herself and getting the fuck out of this town!
But it doesn’t do her self-esteem any good to imply that Callum doesn’t care about her. He’s the only one who hasn’t failed her, even if he is a fucking dickhead.
I should just leave.
I grab the banister and haul myself up the steps, though, running to her room. Pushing open the door, I see her holding her head and crying.
How close is she to falling completely apart?
I take her in my arms, pressing her head to my chest as she shakes. “Dancing bears,” I say, trying to remember the words. “Painted…wings.”
Fuck, I don’t remember any more.
“Dancing bears,” I start to sing again, hoping she helps. “Painted wings.”
Come on, honey. She shakes, and I already feel her tears seeping through my shirt.
I hear her voice, though. “Things I almost rememberrr…”
She keeps going, and I pick up the tune, joining her on the chorus as our breathing settles in sync.
By the time it’s over, her voice is strong, and I’m relaxing a little. Thank God she didn’t go full freak-out like she did with him. I would’ve been in serious shit.
I shouldn’t have said those things to her. She could be on the cusp of coming back to herself or she could be like my mother—only a matter of time. I don’t know her enough to talk to her like that.
Holding her tight, I rest my chin on her head, staring across the room at her Victorian dollhouse. “You have to remember, Anna-Katherine,” I tell her, “we’re all just kids inside, trying to pretend that it feels good to be grown up.”
“Why?”
Maybe because it’s expected when we turn eighteen. Maybe we need money.
But instead, I say, “Because we think freedom will give us things that are good for us.”
That’s why we want to grow up. That’s why we pretend we’re glad we did.
“Eventually,” I explain, “we realize that we’re not doing the things we do because we can.”
The sex. The drinking. Spending money. Zoning out into our phones.
“We’re doing them,” I tell her, “because we can’t stop anymore.”
We become addicted to the escape.
“I don’t understand,” she whispers.
Needles prick my throat, and I almost can’t get the words out, because it hurts so badly.
“I don’t want to be free,” I choke out.
I don’t want to drink whenever I want or sleep with whomever I want.
“But I’m really good at it.”
I can detach the way my brothers can’t. I’ve come to hate it, but I know now that nothing will kill me, so there’s that.
Putting her into bed, I shut off her light, her eyes already closing as I plug in her phone on the nightstand. I actually hope he didn’t see me on the cameras. I’ll call Damaris back. I’m not in the mood for any more shit tonight.
As soon as I step out of the room, though, I come face-to-face with Callum. He leans back on the banister, his gaze on me. I straighten. How long has he been here?