Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 146548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 733(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 146548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 733(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
At first glance it might look like Rose and Lo hate each other, but they’ve teamed up for most of the yacht trip. They raided the teenagers’ cabins for cigarettes, and they’re planning to toss all that shit into the beach bonfire tonight.
As we pass the sand mermaid, Ryke gives Lo a hard stare. “Don’t even fucking think about it,” Ryke warns his brother.
Lo touches his chest, and we move beyond the mermaid completely. He ends up walking backwards to add, “I’d never.” He flashes a half-smile.
Ryke flips him off with two hands.
Based on Lo’s current mood, I’d say he’s most likely not delivering shit news to me. And if he is, he’s being strangely coy.
We veer towards the water. He keeps walking, and I follow step-for-step beside him. I sink on the damper sand, and water rushes over the inked nautical wheels on my feet.
I glance back at Lo.
He’s quiet. And the more we walk casually along the beach, the more distance we put between the sandcastles and ourselves. Lo’s bodyguard follows us, but he’s too far back to eavesdrop.
As the water rushes forward, I lightly splash with my foot. I’m trying to wrack my mind for any possible topic.
Nate, Maximoff’s stalker—but that was so long ago.
The photo leak.
Maximoff’s physical therapy.
Rowin, which happened just yesterday. Fuck, if it’s about him…
I comb my hand through my hair. “Is this about Rowin?” I just go ahead and ask. “Because the guy I’d known would’ve never done that to Maximoff. If I had any idea…” I trail off, because I’m still pissed and upset about it. It’s fresh, and my throat tries to swell closed.
Truth is, I would never be with a guy who was capable of what Rowin did.
Never.
Not for a day. Definitely not for two fucking years. Yet, I was with him for that long, and it disgusts the fuck out of me.
Lo looks at me with this soul-cutting empathy, his care and understanding usually reserved for family or the broken, fragile people he meets. “This isn’t about Rowin, but how are you?” he asks genuinely. “I know that couldn’t have been easy for you.”
I frown, taken aback. This is a side of Lo that I haven’t seen in a while. At least not towards me. “I’m pissed,” I say, being honest. I shake my head a few times, and I run my tongue over my molars.
“I hope you’re not blaming yourself,” Lo tells me. “It’s not your fault.”
I nod strongly. I didn’t need to hear those words to believe them, but for Lo to even say them to me—when his son is the one who was in the crossfire—it sits with me for a while. It stings my eyes.
Warm water laps over our feet. I almost smile at a sudden thought. “Maximoff says I have an immunity against remorse.”
Lo snorts. “Jesus. He’s so much like Lily…and my brother.” He laughs lightly, but the sound fades when he looks back at me. “You’re one of those people who say they have no regrets? I hate those people.”
Shit, I can’t help but smile. “Yeah, I’m one of those people. Or…” I tilt my head from side to side. “I try to be.”
Lo contemplates this silently, and then he slows to a stop, an abandoned umbrella and beach chair nearby. And behind us, everyone is a speck in the distance, the sandcastles shapeless.
He faces me, and I see what most people do. Sharpness. From his defined cheekbones to the sentiments wielded in his amber eyes. Fuck, he’s not a soft man. I imagine it’d feel more comfortable to stare down the pointed end of a sword.
“What I wanted to ask…” Lo glares up at the sky, piecing together his words before saying, “How are you and your dad?”
I let out a short breath. Not excited about where this could potentially be headed. Lo sees the kindness in my father, and I see it too. But… “We’re on speaking terms, but there’s not much there, Lo. It’s not like you and Maximoff. It’s never going to be like that.”
His brows cinch. “Maybe in time, you and him—you’ll patch things up.” A swell of water gushes against our ankles. “Things could get better. I know your father, and he’s a good man.”
I smile wearily. “Lo…” I take a breath. “Good men can be bad fathers.” It’s what I’ve always known. What I’ve always felt.
There’s nothing to salvage or recreate. It’s nonexistent. And I don’t yearn for it. I don’t have it. I don’t want it. And that’s okay.
His face almost twists, letting this sink in. He looks pained for me. “I’m sorry. I wish it weren’t like that.”
“Can’t say the same,” I say easily. “And look, I don’t wish my old man ill will. It is what it is.”
He looks out at the blue sea before turning back to me. “I wanted to ask you something, Farrow.”