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)
My stomach knots. Aching. I shake my head. “You can’t adopt a kid. You can’t leave paperwork.”
“She had a different name. Fake identity. Fake papers.” Her eyes slide between both of us, and Rocky is rigid. An ice block. “He needed a home. We gave him one.”
“Where was he born? What adoption agency?” Rocky asks.
“New York. Um, I can’t remember the agency Addy used. It’s been so long. Like all of you, we don’t like paper trails. Birth certificates get burned.”
Whether Rocky believes her, I can’t tell. I’m not completely sure I do, but it’s not as if they can give us more proof.
“What about us?” I ask, my voice tight. What about me? “Are we all adopted, too?”
Her face cracks. “No, bug. I carried you three.” She touches her heart. “I was pregnant with triplets. Your brothers and you. I gave birth to all three of you.” She looks to Rocky. “And you and Hailey are Addison and Everett’s biological children.” She returns her attention to me. “Is this why you’ve been so…?” She doesn’t know the word. Angry. Combative. Different.
“I don’t want to be lied to,” I tell her. “Not by you.”
“I’d like to think I raised you well enough that you could tell when I lie,” she says gently, but it feels more like someone slipping a needle in my neck. Her gaze flits to where Addison left, and I think she might leave for her. But she returns her attention back on me. “Connecticut,” she says. “We can’t stay in the state longer than a couple hours at a time. There was a con—before your time—that we pulled.”
Rocky’s eyes darken. “What con is so big that you can’t come back in decades?”
“And that’d make it unsafe for us to be here, too?” I add in confusion.
“One that didn’t end well.” She sucks in a tight breath, and I know she won’t explain more. That we’re going to have to be satisfied with those half answers. Now’s not the time to even push. We have to get them on board with the Koning job, and it might be a little difficult considering we just made Addison cry.
I truly can’t remember the last time I saw her shed a tear—and I feel a little like shit if they are telling the truth. If she did have a miscarriage. And is it my place to question that? Should I take it at face value?
I think of Hailey. The purplish crescent moons under her sleepless eyes. Her obsession with finding answers. Proof. We need proof.
DNA. The dinner. We have to stay the course.
SIXTEEN
Rocky
Thirteen. That’s the number of side-eyes my dad has given me since we sat down for dinner. I’m waiting for one more so he doesn’t leave me on that unlucky fucking number. But he’s been fixated on Elizabeth for the past five minutes as she finishes explaining what he missed.
I’d have loved if we could have kept him in the dark for more than a millisecond. His green eyes darken with worry and anger, and he must be getting hot, because he starts rolling the cuffs of his heather-gray button-down. He already shed his peacoat when he walked in. His brown hair has grown out enough to touch his ears, and his five-o’clock shadow is turning into thicker stubble.
Whoever he’s becoming, he appears more relaxed, carefree. Not clean-cut. Less likely to lead a Fortune 500 meeting.
Half-eaten sushi remains on my plate, and I watch my mom poke at nigiri with her chopsticks in a daze.
I should feel like a bastard for causing her emotional distress and flinging her into a past where she (allegedly) lost a kid. But I can’t cry for her. Can’t even feel a tiny particle of guilt.
In truth, I don’t actually believe her.
I’m not sure I can believe anything she says. And sure, I’ll be the super raging dickbag if it turns out she was honest, but I’m willing to roll those dice.
I cup my water glass and clear my throat. “He doesn’t need an encyclopedia entry,” I tell Elizabeth. “Just give him the CliffsNotes. We have other news to share.”
My dad’s brows rise. “You’re not done dropping bombs tonight?”
“You’re made of steel, aren’t you?” I fling back. “Can’t handle one more grenade?”
“Is that what this is?” he asks me. “A test of loyalty since you think your mother and I have been lying to you? Otherwise, the only thing I can think is you’re being a selfish brat.”
I raise my glass. “Selfish brat.”
He’s glaring. “We’re all on the same team, Brayden.”
They’ve reminded me of this fact over and over. Same team. Same goals. It’s not entirely untrue, but somewhere along the way, I do think our desires diverged.
“It’s not a bomb,” Phoebe cuts in, eyeing me like settle down. Yeah…we need their help, and I’m not making this easy.