Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 112249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 561(@200wpm)___ 449(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 561(@200wpm)___ 449(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
“I was starting to think you got lost,” she teased.
“It ate my money,” he explained lamely, “and it’s old as shit.”
Gracen smiled indulgently. “Yeah, everybody makes that mistake at least once. We’re gonna head out in a bit and eat, anyway, if you want to wait? Otherwise, Mimi could share a glass of her water.”
His gaze stayed fixated on the front doors.
Gracen didn’t ask why. “Are you okay?”
Malachi shook off the heaviness in his shoulders and plastered on a happy face for Gracen. “Yeah, of course. Let’s get back to Mimi, eh?”
She fell for it.
Sort of.
“Sure,” Gracen replied, still studying him carefully as they headed for the block hall.
It took a bit longer for his reality to sink in. Gracen helped to snap him back to earth with the tangle of her fingers weaving with his while they walked side by side.
He could still hear Alora. His sister’s whispered truth echoed in the back of his mind.
The smallest thing could ruin it for me.
Malachi didn’t want to be that thing—the catalyst to life not of her choosing. The cruelty of his stepfather couldn’t be understated when the man had once beaten his stepchild with belts and rods; when a cold sun porch in twenty below weather was a suitable bedroom as punishment. No, Malachi intimately understood what it was like to live under the roof of a man like Frankie Beau. A monster who felt untouchable and even justified in his acts of abuse; his community only enabled the beliefs and bad behaviors with their lamb-like following at the ready on their knees at his altar. How they could never smell the rum on Frankie’s breath as he spat hellfire and lies from the pulpit stunned Malachi even as a child.
People acted like Frankie was the god. Malachi learned early he was just a fucking bully with a head full of bible verses at the ready to explain away everything he ever did.
An unholy slaughter.
Alora was close to escaping it all. Obviously, her intention was to leave. Malachi wouldn’t be able to handle it if he was the reason her plans—whatever they were—failed. He needed to make sure that was never the case.
“Can we take the food back to the house?” Malachi asked as they neared Mimi’s private rooms.
He knew Gracen enjoyed eating at the take-out, but now more than ever, he didn’t want someone to recognize his face.
“Yeah, of course,” Gracen returned, “if you want to.”
That was the shitty thing one had to learn early about life. Rarely did a person get what they wanted.
Chapter 29
“Do you want to hike to the water tower tomorrow?” Gracen asked as she moved from one white cupboard to the next in search of glasses.
“Uh ...”
Thankfully, Gracen didn’t notice Malachi’s hesitance in answering her question.
Instead, she moved onto something else. “I swear to God, whenever Delaney gets bored, she reorganizes something. Three months ago, these glasses were over there.”
She pointed at the cupboards across the kitchen from her current spot just left of the sink and window facing the front street. The space had a lot of counter space stretching around three walls.
“If she’s really stressed out,” Gracen added, “their spot can move every other week.”
“Bored and stressed are not the same thing,” Malachi pointed out.
Gracen rolled her shoulders indifferently. “I can’t help her vices, either.”
Fair enough.
She moved to the sink and pushed the curved lever back for the detachable tap to fill the glass from the cupboard with water. Turning her back to lean against the sink, Gracen sipped her drink and watched him over the rim of the glass.
Malachi, sitting at the head of the oval table with a wooden top and painted white legs, could recognize that look in her eye. Especially when she arched an eyebrow challengingly.
“What?” he asked.
“You didn’t say anything about the hike.”
He glanced down at the boots on his feet. She refused to let him take them off at the door because between Gracen and Delaney, one of the two swept the main floors morning and night. Nonetheless, his footwear wasn’t the greatest for a hike into Montgomery Mountain.
“In these?” Malachi asked with an easy smile.
The cup lowered from her mouth to expose the smirk of her lips. “Next time, then?”
“Yeah,” he was quick to agree. “Next time, absolutely. I’ll bring better footwear, no worries.”
That seemed to do the job of pacifying her.
How long would it last, though?
Don’t be a fucking chickenshit, man.
Malachi just wasn’t ready to tell her that plans had to change. He had the distinct feeling the news of his departure—earlier than he initially planned—might not go over well with Gracen. Fuck him for not wanting to burst the little bubble the two of them created whenever they were able to be together.
Christ.
Shouldn’t that tell him something?
Is here where I want to be?
Or was it where he was supposed to be?