Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 137131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
“And you were right.” My laugh sounds forced, but neither of them seem to notice. “There are so many bee people here. I’ve found my tribe.”
Neither of them laugh, though I think it’s because Colt gets distracted by some guy walking past in full medieval armor. It wouldn’t be an art market without a few eccentrics who think the renaissance festival is a year-long event.
Archer just stares at the grass to his side, plucking blades absently.
“What about you? Rough day?” I ask.
Maybe a little desperate, but hell, I am.
“Huh?” He glances up, but there’s no mistaking it this time—there’s something closed off in his expression. His eyes are shuttered. “No, Winnie. My day was fine.”
Fine.
Nothing about him screams fine.
If he stays this tense, he might just permanently set into stone.
But from the way he’s looking at me, then glances at Colt, he’s not going to say anything about it here.
Okay, Archer. Later it is.
I look down at the lazy river and eventually Colt suggests we go for a walk.
Fine. I grab Archer a beer and he holds it loosely in his hands as he looks at the carvings Colt points out.
It’s a good mask, I’ll admit.
He’s saying the right stuff, going through the motions, and it’s convincing enough for Colt, who just wants his dad here to share this with him.
But maybe I’m more discerning, or just insecure.
Colt’s position in Archer’s life is guaranteed, for heaven’s sake. He’s his son.
Mine is far less guaranteed.
We haven’t really talked about the future, and things have been good, but that doesn’t mean they’re official. They’re not unbreakable.
Yeah, I’m overthinking.
I bite it back, though, until Colt goes off with some woodcutter guy who knows way more about carving than anyone else. I follow Archer down to the riverside walkway with a growing cactus in my throat.
“So,” I say after a few minutes of standing in awkward silence. Weird how after we’ve been so close—and I mean really freaking close, considering he was inside me just this morning—everything feels so distant. “You can’t keep avoiding me, you know.”
He barely looks at me. “I’m not avoiding you.”
Right, and there’s a giraffe in my pocket.
“Archer, please. Let’s not pretend everything is cool when it obviously isn’t. I got that enough at home.”
The word ‘home’ reaches him. Now, he does look at me.
Cold and distant like unblinking blue stars.
“Fuck, you want to know? My company got a notice from your father’s office,” he says.
What?
Oh my God.
…I’m going to murder my father.
Scalding blood rushes to my face. My eyes sting as I reach for my phone. “No way. I’m going to call him right now and—”
“No. This isn’t your fight, Sugarbee,” he snaps, catching my hand. It’s the first time he’s touched me since he left to see Rina.
His fingers feel warm and slightly calloused around my wrist. Despite everything, it sends electricity zinging through me.
“What do you mean? My stupid dad did this. He’s a child.” And all because of me, though I can’t bear to say it. Anger burns into guilt that tastes like ashes in my mouth. “Please, Archer. You have to let me help.”
He still hasn’t let go of my wrist and he’s closer now, his body almost pressed against mine, eclipsing me. I want him to take the final step and wrap me in his arms, but he doesn’t.
The Archer this morning would have done it in a heartbeat. Why does everything feel so hard now?
“I’ll handle it,” he says gently. “You’ve already been through too much with this asshole.”
Tears prick my eyes.
I thought we were safe, past the worst of it with Holden’s little stunt, but now my dad had to butt in, making my issues a burden again.
He talks about what I’ve been through, but what about him?
Not to mention all the drama he’s gone through before I entered his life.
My father launched a lawsuit—a flipping lawsuit—because he can’t stand me having a shred of free will.
I don’t have words to convey how much I hate this, so I step closer into Archer’s embrace. Thankfully, he hugs me this time, holding me against his chest.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “He’s just mad, lashing out because he can’t control me anymore and he knows it. He’s a toxic control freak.”
“Let him have his fit. I’ll deal with it, Sugarbee.”
“I still want to help you. Any way I can.”
One of those big, rough hands strokes my hair, such a relief that I close my eyes, blinking away the surge of tears.
“You don’t need to worry, Winnie. You’ve done enough of that.”
A messy laugh cuts through the silence and we break apart.
Then I look up and see Colt standing with Delly, who’s holding a lump of wood I think she tried to carve. It looks like a mangled bird with one wing.
They’re both doubled over, laughing their heads off.