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)
Don’t remember it.
“What happened in the Alps?” Nova asks me, then Oliver. We spent the holidays apart from him, Hailey, and Trevor. While they stayed in Victoria, the rest of us wintered in the Alps with the Koning boys.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say under my breath, my stomach doing a vicious gymnastics routine.
Oliver has an all too concerned and empathetic look.
Nova sees and shoves his omelet away. “You know I asked Rocky the same thing—what happened in the Alps? And he threw his luggage on the floor, stormed in his room, and slammed the door like he was back to being eighteen. So I would appreciate if either of you clued me in to what the fuck went down.”
“Trent is a dick,” I say plainly.
Nova zeroes in on Oliver. “That can’t be all.”
“You don’t need to worry about me,” I say before Oliver can speak. “I’m fine.”
“You’re shaking,” Nova retorts.
“In anger. I’m pissed.” I want Rocky. It’s such a sudden, involuntary response that I immediately glance over at the hall that leads to the bathroom.
“First Carlsbad, now this—”
“Stop,” I groan into my hands.
“Let’s all take a breath here,” Oliver says to us. “She’s okay. You’re okay. We’re all okay.”
We’re not okay.
I haven’t been able to tell my brothers about my bad experience in Carlsbad, and purging the nitty-gritty details from the Alps isn’t any easier. There are memories I want to tear out of my brain and set on fire.
I might be attracted to drama, but I prefer the fun variety. Which is why I shift my focus to The Hunt.
It’s a slice of chaotic normal inside our bizarre pie.
EIGHTEEN
Phoebe
Jake: I thought Katherine told you what you’d be doing and everything The Hunt entails. I’m so sorry. I would’ve given you a heads-up.
I want to groan at the phone in my hand. My boss didn’t inform me or Hailey what our roles would be during The Hunt. It probably slipped Katherine’s mind, but that doesn’t explain why other servers and bartenders also withheld certain details from us.
I thought I’d grown a decent workplace friendship with Chelsea Noknoi, but the longer I date Jake, the more she distances herself from me, like I could rat her out to the Powers That Be just for serving a lukewarm latte.
Hailey isn’t faring much better.
When we first came to town, she started a fling with Erik the Bartender. She’s been too preoccupied for him as of late. Understandably. But ending things before the holidays did not go so smoothly.
My run-in with him while working last month’s New Year’s Bash was not spectacular, to say the least.
His face visibly turned squeamish like the sight of me caused gastrointestinal distress. “I’m busy,” he told me, rolling up the sleeves to his button-down. Tattoos glided up his forearms and disappeared underneath his shirt.
“Too busy to make a negroni?” I asked. “One of the widowers wants one.”
Erik worked his jaw.
I groaned. “Come on. You can’t be that upset over Hailey breaking things off. You guys barely dated—”
“It was how she did it, Phoebe,” Erik growled. “She said, This was fun, but I’m done. Who says shit like that?”
Straight and to the point. Sounds like my girl Hailey Tinrock. Maybe she wouldn’t have been so curt if she could have French exited and left town without confronting Erik, but that option doesn’t exist anymore.
“So she was blunt,” I defended my best friend. “Some people don’t sugarcoat things. Would you have rather she kissed your ass and left you thinking there was hope in the future?”
He scooped ice into a cocktail shaker with a stink face. “I would rather she have been nice—”
“She is nice,” I argued.
She just doesn’t have breakup experience. Neither do I. I’m sure I would have flubbed a breakup just as hard. I haven’t even broken up with my fake boyfriend! And that was in the works for how long before we shelved it? If Erik knew Hailey well at all, he wouldn’t have taken her tone that badly.
And if he cared about her—maybe he would’ve seen she’s not doing so fucking great. That she has little time for his emotional state because she’s more concerned with her own.
So there.
Erik shook his head like I was wrong.
“You know what,” I said coldly. “I’m going to make the negroni myself—”
“You’re not allowed to mix drinks.”
“Since when?” I’ve made plenty of mimosas and helped behind the bar.
“It’s in the handbook.”
“Fine. I’ll go find Lola. She makes better drinks than you anyway.” I strutted off without a second glance and tossed my maturity in the trash can. Replaying that scenario literally sends thick wrinkles to my forehead in an ugly grimace. Lasting impressions are new for me, and some not in a good way.
Erik responded to that confrontation by gossiping about my best friend to the other servers, the sous chefs, the lifeguards—basically anyone who would listen.