Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 137326 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137326 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
She grows still. Her sniffles, her trembling.
It’s like she’s turned into a statue.
Her fingers twitch in mine, her face so pale, I think she’s having a stroke.
“Vi?”
“He didn’t do anything.” Her voice is barely audible.
“What? Of course he did. He stalked and attempted to kill you.”
“He wasn’t behind what happened to me.”
I frown. “Then who was it?”
My heart thunders so fast, I think it’ll stop. It couldn’t be…?
“Was it K-Kane?” I ask, barely hearing my voice over the buzzing in my ears.
She shakes her head.
I hate how relief sinks in my chest.
“Then who?”
“You don’t need to worry about it.” She clutches my shoulders. “I’m a moving target, Dahl. You’re not. You should go. Maybe somewhere sunny on the West Coast. You’re smart and such a tough cookie, I’m sure you’ll be okay no matter where you go.”
“No! I’m not going anywhere without you.”
“Listen to me—”
“No, you listen to me. You never abandoned me, no matter how hard it got. If you think I’ll ever turn my back on you, I’ve got a news flash for you. Won’t be happening.”
“These people don’t compare to our sleazy landlords or touchy foster parents, Dahl.” Her tone turns spooked. “They kill people and get away with it.”
“I know. I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”
“You…have? Oh, Dahl.”
“It’s okay, nothing happened to me. Kane did it to protect me—”
I bite my lower lip.
I need to gargle some bleach so I can stop thinking about him and saying his name.
“The guy you kissed on TV at the end of the last game?”
“Were you awake at that time?”
“Yeah, recovering.”
“I didn’t know back then. I’m sorry, Vi.”
“What are you apologizing for?”
“Getting in bed with the enemy.” And falling in love with him.
“Whose enemy?”
“Yours.”
“Kane’s not my enemy.”
“He’s the one who gave your name and information to Jude!”
She pales again. I noticed that whenever I say Jude’s name, she flinches.
“He would’ve found me anyway.” Her small voice is barely audible. “I’m the one who ran away when his mother was being killed.”
“That still doesn’t excuse what Kane did.”
“You love him, Dahl. I can see it through the pain in your eyes. I saw it when you held on to him and kissed him like you couldn’t live without him. If he treats you right, you should go back to him.”
“No way in hell. He lied to me. He knew everything and didn’t tell me. He played me like a chess piece. If I see him again, I’ll kill him.” I hug her once more. “Besides, I’ll never leave you. Ever.”
Violet’s only response is a sad smile.
Vi and I have spent the last couple of days catching up. We go on walks in the nearby park, then buy all the snacks and stuff our faces full. Though they’re now tasteless after that road trip with Kane.
Vi is Vi with her soft voice and little smiles, but she’s also not the same person from three months ago.
She still refuses to tell me who was behind the attack and often closes in on herself.
Sometimes, I catch her watching the windows with wide, frightened eyes as if she’s waiting for Satan himself to barge in.
She wakes up every night screaming. It’s gotten so bad, she barely sleeps and has dark circles surrounding her eyes in the morning.
I stand by the kitchen doorway as she prepares lunch and listens to the radio. If I ask her to go out, she refuses and insists I should either go on my own or go back to school and not sacrifice my scholarship for her.
She always thinks about everyone but herself.
I hate it so much because I don’t know how to make it better.
Or how to stop her from feeling like she’s waiting for her doom in this unremarkable, miserable place.
I stare at her movements—lethargic, with no soul, and entirely different from Kane’s purposeful strides when he’s cooking.
Damn it.
Why does everything make me think of him?
Vi notices me sulking and forces a smile. “Don’t just stand there. Come in.”
“Want me to help?”
“You can’t cook to save your life.”
“Wow, rude.” I pout. “I found a snow shovel in the garage. I’ll shovel the driveway.”
“All right. Be careful.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I salute and head back to the garage armed with a thick coat.
It’s full of some DIY stuff, tools, an old lawn mower, and a sharp-looking axe.
I put on some gloves, then drag it outside and bend down to tie my shoes.
As I’m standing up from my kneeling position, the sun gets blocked by a large cloud.
Wait. It’s not completely blocked.
I shield my eyes as I look up.
It’s definitely not a cloud.
The sight of him is like an electric shot to my heart.
“I like the position, wildflower.”
38
DAHLIA
Ispent the last couple of days hating, cursing, and metaphorically stabbing a voodoo doll with Kane Davenport’s face all over it.
It got so bad that I momentarily thought of going back and punching him in the face or doing something more drastic like breaking either his arm or his leg so he could kiss his beloved hockey career goodbye.