Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 122097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
“You go ahead, I’ll wait here.” The security tent is not that far away. If I get up on my tiptoes, I can even see it. So Collin nods, tells Mercy to follow, and they go off in that direction.
I continue to look out at the river, just watching it go by. But then I spy a large pile of debris coming my way. Like a tangle of twigs and leaves. But something else too, because it’s a big clump. Suddenly it breaks free and starts coming at me fast. That’s when I realize it’s not just trees, but… I squint as it goes rushing by, then pull my head back, confused. Because I swear I just saw bones in that clump.
“You should be careful, ya know.”
I let out a forced breath. Then I turn and face him. “What can I do for you, Grimm?”
Grimm is standing there at the end of the dock wearing one of the special new outfits, like the ones made for Collin and his friends. He’s pretty much the definition of handsome with that dark hair and matching dark stubble on his jaw. He doesn’t shave, he grooms. And even when he’s not dressed for Revival, he always looks nice. Like he could’ve been a male model if he had walked out of Disciple and went somewhere like New York or LA.
“I’m just telling you. You need to be careful around him.”
“You don’t need to tell me anything, Grimm. Go away.” Then I turn back to the river. It’s not that I hate Grimm, it’s just… we dated. Briefly. A long time ago. I was in a weird place, my mama had only just died like a year before and there was trouble. He was kind of part of that trouble, but only in an auxiliary way. Still, he was there in the periphery and that’s how I think of him these days. He just makes me edgy.
“He’s not what you think. I know. Whatever he told you about where he’s been and what he’s been doing, it’s not what you think.”
Against my better judgment, I turn back around. “How would you know, Grimm?”
“I’ve got access to privileged information. You know that as well as I do. Collin Creed is here for a reason and I am just warning you to be careful.”
“What reason?”
“Ask him yourself.” Then he turns and walks away.
I grumble under my breath. Fuckin’ Grimm. He’s always known exactly how to push my buttons. “Just ignore him, Lowyn.” I say this out loud. Over and over again, like a mantra. “Just ignore him, just ignore him.”
But it’s always been easier said than done and this time is no different.
“All right.”
I whirl around, surprised. Collin is coming towards me again. “Are you OK?”
“What?” I wipe my hands on my dress. They are sweaty for some reason.
“You look… startled. Did I come up on you too quiet?” He’s already next to me now, his hands slipping easily around my waist as he grins down at me with mischievous eyes.
And this makes me happy for some reason. He’s different now. Calmer, for sure. And he’s enjoying this day at the Revival grounds. Something he probably didn’t think was possible. “You didn’t scare me, Collin. Not in the least.”
He offers me his hand and I take it. Then he leads me away from the river and back into the tent where the people are.
But there’s a little voice in my head now though. Grimm’s voice. You need to be careful around him. I want to push it aside and just ignore it, but deep down, I know there’s some truth in what he said. Collin is here for a reason. And it doesn’t have anything to do with me. He’s already told me his reason and I don’t doubt him—I certainly don’t think he’s a liar—but lots of people find omission to be their pathway to the truth. Myself included. Hell, everyone in this town included. So I can’t just throw Grimm’s comments away.
That doesn’t mean his comments matter, either. Because they don’t. Not to me. I don’t care why Collin Creed came home. I don’t care what he’ll be doin’ out there on that old compound.
I’m just glad he’s back.
“What happened to your dog?”
Collin looks over his shoulder, then back at me. “She’s in the security tent. I’m not patrolling, so I figure she could take a rest. But…” He winces here.
“But what?”
“She’s coming home with me tonight.”
“She is?”
“Every night, actually.”
I smile, then laugh. “We’ve got ourselves a dog now, do we?”
“We do. I don’t think she’ll be any trouble. She speaks four languages.”
“I think bringing that dog home is a fine idea.”
Just as I say this, a child begins to sing. So I look in that direction and find little Bethylynn Baptist—Jim Bob’s great-granddaughter—stepping forward from a crowd wearing the prettiest dress a little girl has ever seen, and I’m willing to bet my whole reputation that her dress was wrapped up in paper on her doorstep this morning, probably sitting inside a two-foot-wide straw basket. She starts belting out ‘Sing Me an Old-Fashioned Song’ as a boy with a guitar comes forward. A pair of girls start fiddlin’ and then the unmistakable sound of a standup bass thumps from inside the crowd—which is getting thicker as the moments pass—and just a second later, there are dozens of kids from the Children’s Choir surrounding Collin and me, like they are serenading us.