Series: Webs We Weave Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 145038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
She must be her mom. Addison.
“You need sleep,” I say so softly to Hailey, and somehow this draws her gray eyes to mine. “Real sleep, Hails. Can you go to bed? Please? For me?”
Her eyelashes flutter, and very zombielike, she rises and spins three sixty. Rocky reaches out to steady her, but she’s not in danger of falling. She’s just lost. Like she’s searching for something.
“Where’s Olly?” she whispers.
“It’s late. Oliver and Nova are back at the boathouse,” I tell her. “Trevor is asleep in your bed. You’re going to crash in mine, okay?”
Hailey nods slowly. “Yeah…yeah.” I guide her into my bedroom, and Rocky pours his sister a water while I help her take off her Converse sneakers and climb beneath the fluffy marshmallow comforter.
Rocky places the water on the nightstand. “You need to drink something.”
She takes a few sips, and when she looks up at her brother, her round eyes go glassy, like snow globes pooled with water. “We-we might not be…”
“You will always be my sister,” Rocky professes. “There is nothing in my lifetime that could change that, Hailey. Not one fucking thing.”
This eases her enough that she lies back.
I tuck her in. “Just shut your eyes and brain. Don’t think about anything except your body sinking into the mattress.”
She shuts her eyes, and I wipe the involuntary tears from the corners with my thumb. My heart is aching, especially as she croaks out, “Thanks, Phoebe.”
“No thanks. Just sleep.”
Before we leave, she mutters one thing. “He-he once told me about his family’s library. I asked if I could borrow the books…”
Jake, she means.
“Okay,” I whisper. “Sleep.”
Once we switch off the lights and quietly exit, Rocky checks on Trevor and says, “Asleep.” At least his little brother didn’t sneak out.
I release the tensest breath of my life, and Rocky’s concern is on me. “You okay?”
I nod a lot. Yeah. The word sticks to the back of my throat. I just want Hailey to be okay.
Rocky threads his fingers behind his stiff neck. His glare is lethal, and he’s doing everything not to place it on me.
“I’m going to kill him,” he fumes. “I’m going to fucking kill him.”
“Jake?”
“Who else?”
I make a face like he’s scaling Mount Everest when we should be climbing K2. “Jake was only trying to help her. They both like books. It’s been a commonality between them since we moved here, Rocky. Can’t you picture a scenario where Hailey reaches out to Jake, asks for a favor, and Jake gladly abides because he’s nice? Because I can.”
“This was a face-to-face meetup. Face-to-face.” He manages to keep his voice down. “He physically handed her the books, and he didn’t think to shoot you or me a text about it? He didn’t think to tell us Hailey looks a little fucked up? He didn’t see her and go, Gee, maybe this girl is an insomniac? Is he really that dense, Phoebe, or are we being played?”
I frown. “Hailey probably brushed it off or told him not to alarm us. Because I can’t see a situation where Jake doesn’t care about her. He cares about people he doesn’t even know, and he knows Hailey. It’d be cruel, and he’s so far from that.”
“That we know of.”
“He would be a sociopath.”
Rocky outstretches his arms. “Maybe he is one.”
“If you really believed that, then all of our bags would be packed, and Victoria would be in our rearview mirror.” Jake has never been a real threat to Rocky.
He smears a hand down his face, then breathes out the coarse grit in his throat. “Fine.”
“Fine…” There’s one thing about Jake that I’ve just learned today. That I need to share, but Rocky reclaims his seat on the sofa.
I follow and pick up my bowl of cereal. The Froot Loops are mushy, but I swallow a scoop anyway. Is Toucan Sam courage a thing? Because I could use some right now. I just don’t want another reason for Rocky to doubt Jake when he’s been an ally, but the seed is already planted. It’s sprouted into a beanstalk, and I’m not capable of chopping it down.
He reaches over and shuts off the lamp for the movie. Light from the TV brightens the dark living room, and we decide on The Texas Chainsaw Massacre from 2003. I’d rather just watch the slasher flick, but he’s too good at reading body language.
“We can forget about Jake. He’s breaking up with you within a week, and what I feel about him doesn’t matter anyway. Right?”
“Yeah.” I nod tensely.
He nods back, seeing. “What’s wrong?”
Rotating more to him, I lift my legs up, and before I can tuck them under my butt, he seizes them, letting me stretch out over his lap. His hand stays protectively, comfortingly, territorially over my calves.
It’s such an intimate gesture. It reminds me of how we are on jobs, not in real life, and knowing this is now my every day, I almost melt into the side of the couch cushion.