Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 51713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 172(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 172(@300wpm)
I’ve always found his uncle Eamon a bit disrespectful when it comes to things like that, but as Cill says, they’re old school. Which again, makes my eyes roll.
I start to take off my jacket, but a chill blows in and I think better of it, opting to leave it on even though Cill takes his off.
All the windows in the rec room are open. Fresh fall air comes in through the screens. It’s early autumn, but already chilly at night. The sun is just starting to set and through the blinds it’s easy to see it sinking into the woods behind us.
Nerves settle through me as Cill’s hand parts from mine and he has a hushed conversation with Reed. Tonight’s the night we’re going to tell our fathers our plans for next year. Any other daughter would probably be excited to tell her parents she got a college acceptance letter. My father, though, doesn’t like the idea of me leaving and lately he’s been kind of off. My mother passed two years ago and he’s been downhill ever since, falling into the bottle every night. Part of me feels guilty for leaving, but like Cill said, I have to live my life and I’ll show my father it’s for the better.
I start college in town next fall, and Cill’s happy for me. He’s proud. He’s staying with the club; it bears his family name after all: Cavanaugh Crest. He has to since he’s vice president of the Cavanaugh East and this is our home. But we’re going to get our own place together halfway from here to State College.
The crack of a beer snaps me out of it and Reed smiles as I look up at him, tipping my head in gratitude.
“Thanks,” I say, accepting the drink with a mock cheers and he and Cill don’t miss a beat to continue their conversation. My gaze filters through the room, but I don’t see Missy anywhere, Cill’s aunt. She’s practically his mother since Cill’s mom passed when he was just a baby. She’s probably out grabbing a few more things for tonight. I’m restless without her here, telling me what I can do to help.
Someone comes down the stairs from the third level, footsteps loud and unselfconscious. It’s mostly offices up there on the top floor of the three-story construction and a few bedrooms for people to crash if they need them.
“Kat’s going to college,” Cillian blurts out to Reed. “She got into the premed program, isn’t that fucking amazing?” His fingers slip through mine again and he brings my knuckles to his lips, then kisses them.
My cheeks flush at the compliment, but I don’t have much time to react other than to hug Reed back because my phone is ringing.
I hear Reed ask about my father’s reaction as I dig out my phone from my pocket. Reed knows how it is, and speak of the devil, my dad’s name is on the screen.
He’s probably on his way and forgot something or he’s running late. He’s been late to everything recently.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Are you already at the garage?” His voice sounds different than expected, anxious maybe.
“Yes.” I huff a laugh at him a little. “Can’t you hear it?” It’s far too loud in here and it just got louder with Missy yelling out coming through, a pan of something in one hand and a bag in the other.
It’s too loud to hear what my dad is saying.
I have to drop Cill’s hand. I hate letting go of him, but I’ll only be gone for a few minutes. He looks down at me and I tilt my head toward the stairwell. He bends to kiss my cheek, his rough stubble grazing against my skin and I catch a hint of his masculine scent, it’s woodsy, but fresh like the ocean, that I love. I plug one ear and make my way through the crowd to the little empty space at the foot of the stairs. Cill watches me go as I try to hear what my father’s saying.
Something about going somewhere quiet. No shit, I can hardly hear him.
“Kat.” My name is nearly a curse hissed through the phone with impatience.
“Sorry, Dad. I couldn’t hear you. Say that again?”
“Did you find your mother’s mug?”
My whole body goes cold with a numbing chill. My mother’s mug. I cross my arms over my chest instinctually, hoping I didn’t hear those words. The party is still pretty loud, even in here. Maybe I got it wrong. “What did you say?”
“Did you find your mother’s mug?”
The blood drains from my face and it’s hard to keep my expression neutral. It’s our code phrase. It means I’m in danger.
We made the phrase before my mom died, and just the mention of her makes my stomach sour. My dad has only used it once before while I was at school. I walked out the front doors without telling anyone and came to the club. Everything was fine and it was only a test. Which I’m hoping he’s doing again. Just testing me, even though it would be fucking cruel to do it today.