Series: Webs We Weave Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 126927 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 635(@200wpm)___ 508(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126927 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 635(@200wpm)___ 508(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
Jake shows off one of the bedrooms, and Rocky is standing closer to me. I sense the familiar, comforting heat of his muscled body, and I force myself not to turn and look directly at him.
Divorced.
We’re divorced.
I could’ve chosen any relation under the sun. Brother-sister. Stepsiblings. Coworkers who just mildly hate one another. But I chose something intimate. I’m never living this down. Because this is supposed to be the final backstory to my new, permanent life.
There’s no way to avoid the tension as we all inspect the loft in near silence. If I could open a window and parkour away from here, I would.
Jake ends the tour of the small two-bedroom loft with another side-eye at Rocky. I swear if there were an Olympic competition in side-eyeing, Jake Waterford would take gold.
I’m only slightly jealous.
With a deep breath, I try to focus on our new home. The positives. The little kitchen has seafoam-green cupboards and an opal backsplash. It comes fully furnished with a beige sofa, barstools, and a two-person glass kitchen table. We didn’t even need to buy bedding. It’s all provided.
I do another eye sweep, noticing the rattan lights above the kitchen counter and the cozy brick fireplace.
Quaint and dainty. The kind of place my mom would rarely choose for a one-month stay, let alone forever. It’s not exactly the Ritz or a multimillion-dollar mansion, but it’s cute and ten times better than any motel.
Thinking about my mom makes me want to call her. For a second. Just to hear her voice and the comfort inside her kind words. She always knows what to tell me when we start over. “This city has our names written all over it, bug,” she’d say into a wide, charismatic grin. “It’s perfect.” Her belief was genuine—so genuine and real that I’d remind myself in doubt or fear, it’s perfect; this city is ours.
I could call her.
I could go against Hailey’s desire and just dial my mom, and as tempting as that sounds, I know her. There is absolutely no way she’d approve of what we’re doing. Stop grifting? Ditch the next job? It’s like quitting the family business and setting the fam on a course for bankruptcy. There won’t be jubilation and pats on the back.
Also, we’re not running a steak restaurant where they’ll need to find a new chef and hostess. You can’t just hire con artists off LinkedIn. We’re irreplaceable, and I know by leaving the “family business” so abruptly we’re making the Seattle job harder and riskier.
I’m used to being a team player, and so this sucks. It’d suck seeing anyone leave, if positions were reversed. We help each other. We keep one another safe, and with even one missing link, the threat of being caught grows.
Though, I know my mom would want me to be happy first and foremost, even if that means saying goodbye. But I really believe that she believes I’d be unhappy without conning—and maybe there is a . . . semi-large part of me that also believes this, too.
So I can’t call her. She’ll say exactly what’s already zipped through my brain. This new life isn’t for me. I’m hurting my brothers by leaving the family in the dust. I’m only thinking about Hailey and our pact, and I can’t put her first forever, can I? How will we survive? I love what I do too much to really let it go.
The temptation to return to my old ways will be too strong if she’s here. So I pop the fantasy of a phone call and turn my attention back to the kitchen.
The stainless-steel appliances all seem new, too, and if I had to guess, I’d say it’s been recently renovated. The pictures Hailey showed me made this place look more worn. She told me the rent was twelve hundred a month, and I’m starting to wonder if it’s increased.
“Can I speak to you?” Rocky asks his sister under his breath, but he’s close enough that I hear. “Just for a sec, Hails.”
She excuses herself with her brother, and they talk hushed near the windows, one of the panes lifted. Sheer white curtains billow in the gusting breeze, a storm brewing outside.
I stay in the tiny hallway. Just hanging out, twiddling my thumbs and trying to avoid my phone. I’ve had a few texts from my brothers, and I’m not jumping at the opportunity to tell them, Hey, I’m not going to make Seattle.
I already hear Oliver’s bemused, “What the fuck.” I smile thinking of him. He has a sort of spirit that shouldn’t fit inside one body, a spirit that’s always bursting to come out. “Reel it in” is a phrase that seems made just for Oliver. No one else gets told that on jobs but him.
“That’s really it,” Jake says to me.