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)
I get the secrecy. I get not playing all your cards outright. I get needing help.
If Jake has any chance at succeeding, he definitely needs ours. Just like we need his—because is there anything more alluring than finally being rooted somewhere?
I’ve craved the moment where I can unpack my bags for longer than a few months. Where the next destination isn’t in our headlights, and where the place I love isn’t in my rearview mirror. We’re out of the car. It’s in the garage.
This town can be our home.
But there is one thing that’s more alluring.
Rocky.
Being with him for real. In my heart, I know I’d choose to be on the run forever if it meant I could have Rocky.
The more powerful desire is him.
I might be a true needy, greedy bitch because I want it all. The safety of his arms in the safety of a home.
Inside the catamaran, we’re all dressed in black for Emilia Wolfe’s impending funeral, but today feels more like the death of our covers.
We come into the cramped galley, and Rocky and Jake stand upon seeing us. Their attention beams down on me like I’m about to be sucked up into one of their spacecrafts.
Rocky, Rocky, Rocky, my heart would pick for me.
Only Jake knows I’ve gotten together with Rocky for real. I managed to keep that nugget of truth a secret from my best friend and my brothers, and with everything we just heard, my love life shouldn’t be the ultimate factor in what we do.
This isn’t just about me and him anymore.
Instead of confronting either guy, I catch Hailey’s hand and tug her into the kitchenette area, where blue-and-white striped dish towels hang above a stainless-steel sink.
“I can’t do this.” That’s not me whispering in panic. Hailey dips down her black ballcap with red embroidery that says Satan’s LIL Helper. It shadows her already sleep-stricken eyes. “He’s right there.”
“Who?” I whisper back.
Her eyes snap over to Carter, and her fair white skin goes rosy.
I instantly smile. Seeing my best friend smitten instead of distraught? I will take it a thousand percent. “I guess I don’t have to ask if your crush is still alive.”
“Shhhh, Phoebe.”
“They can’t hear.” I don’t think.
“It’s just a lot. There are a lot of pieces. A lot of pieces and pieces and men.” Her gray eyes dart between too many of the guys in the galley. She’s been making less and less sense to me, but you know what—she’s right. There are a lot of pieces to this puzzle and there are also a lot of men.
So she’s not losing it.
I touch her shoulders comfortingly. Her knit sweaterdress is soft, but an edgy black leather harness contraption is on top and matches her combat boots. “All the guys here are on our side,” I whisper. “Your brothers and my brothers. Jake and Carter, too.”
She peeks from under the brim of her ballcap. “They’re watching us.”
Aaaaand she’s right.
The air has thinned, and the concern for Hailey is choking out the galley.
Carter, who’s normally chipper, has a frown and bothered eyes, and he’s currently leaning forward to whisper with Jake across the table. As their gazes shift to Hailey, it’s clear they’re whispering about her.
They don’t need to act like the ground is falling beneath her feet. I have this under control. I am enough. I will catch her.
“Stop staring,” I snap at everyone. “We’re fine.” We aren’t the weak links, and I’m offended they’re acting like she has one foot on an explosive, one foot on land. She’s been doing the most of all of us. Of course she’s still tired.
Rocky squeezes out of the booth, and when our eyes meet, my heart flips and I intake a sharper breath. He seems to be caging oxygen, too, but instead of coming to us, he goes to whisper to his little brother, who’s raiding the fridge.
I don’t expect my oldest brother to lighten the mood. Nova is blocking the entryway with crossed arms and a stern you fuck with them, you fuck with me glare.
Oliver sinks down on the vacant seat beside Carter, as if there is zero tension to shred. “All I see are plotter-schemer friends here,” he says casually, drawing attention off Hailey.
Thank you, Oliver.
He has on dark Ray-Bans that cost four grand and a much pricier Tom Ford suit, and his warm, dyed-brown hair is artfully styled. He lifts the sunglasses to his head. “I don’t believe we truthfully met.” He’s speaking to Jake.
“Not truthfully.” Jake assesses him.
Oliver smirks and outstretches his hand. “Oliver Graves. The cute one.”
Carter laughs, then cocks his head to Jake. “He’s the dodgiest bloke.” He grins back at Oliver. “Missed opportunity not to call yourself Dodger, mate.”
“Call me whatever you want.” He lowers his shades and kicks back. “I’m just a bigger fan of Oliver.” He chose the name when he was ten after he read Oliver Twist and saw the movie. Dodger is a thief and leader of child criminals in the Dickens novel, and it would’ve been too on the nose to choose it for a name. But Oliver seemed to always care for the main protagonist: a young, orphaned boy born into poverty who later discovers he’s the illegitimate son of a rich man.