Series: Webs We Weave Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 126927 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 635(@200wpm)___ 508(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126927 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 635(@200wpm)___ 508(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
Great.
And I’m seriously not putting on a show for him. I just want to unnerve him. Like a game we play. Aggravate the other before you yourself can get aggravated. I have very tragically failed right now.
I grind my teeth. “Turn around.”
He does without me asking twice. Nice—no, he’s not nice. He’s an asshole. I hate that I have to remind myself of that.
He lets out a resigned breath. “Can we just have a civil conversation for five minutes?”
“Why are you here?” I counter, spinning the moldy shower handle. Letting the warm water cascade into the tub-shower combo.
“To stop you and Hailey from making a mistake.”
I slow my movements as a colder chill sweeps my exposed skin. He knows. How? Head crawling with heat, I don’t have time to ask. My brain is sufficiently frying from the outside in. Quickly, I shed my panties and bra, then step into the scalding shower.
“Fuck,” I mutter before swiveling the knob to a colder temperature. I hate you, shower. I hate you, Rocky. I hate you, hair. Maybe if I hate everything enough, I’ll find love again.
That is definitely not how that works.
Rocky takes my silence as an avenue to keep talking, even if his voice is muffled from the shower. “Moving to the East Coast without telling your parents or mine isn’t going to end well.”
Blue dye slips down my legs and into the drain.
“How’d you find out?!” I shout over the shower.
“Carter told me.”
“What a rat.” I groan.
I know Hailey has a massive crush on him, but ughhh. She’s swept up by his forgery skills. She does that a lot. Falls headfirst for any guy that shows some extraordinary talent. I’ve teased her to death about the fire juggler she slept with, but to this day, she says he was her best lay.
But Carter isn’t some random stranger we met in a dark alley. I first heard about him at seventeen.
“I met this guy who does great fakes,” my mom said, like she made a friend at a book club who knows how to craft lawn furniture. Only instead of an Adirondack chair, my mom got a shiny new passport.
Carter is just a connection for my family. Another string in the webs we all weave. So I thought I could trust him—and maybe I still can. It’s not like he blabbed to the Feds. He told Rocky. Someone that’d take a secret to his grave.
What I assume Rocky knows: Carter made Hailey and me new licenses for our fresh start. And in Hailey’s attempt to flirt, she might have divulged the fact that we’re moving (for real) to Connecticut. If Carter told Rocky all that, then red flags must have been flapping in his face.
And Rocky took the red flag, made a cape, and flew to us.
Hence the check-in.
“He called me, by the way,” Rocky explains outside the shower. “He knew this wasn’t your next job, and he was worried.”
I know this is dangerous. Those words stick to the back of my throat. Admitting to Rocky that this might be a risky plan feels like sticking my finger in an electric socket. Instead I let the silence build.
After carefully rinsing all the dye from my hair, I cut the shower off, snag a towel from the rack, pat my hair dry, and then wrap the towel around my chest. Partly, I expect Rocky to be gone. Back in his car. Left without saying goodbye.
He wouldn’t.
I know he wouldn’t, and I hate that I like that about him. His reliability. If I ever found myself in deep trouble, he would be there.
Hell, he’s here now and we’re not even in trouble.
Irritation bubbles again, drowning out the affection that exists. As I yank the curtain, metal rings clink against the shower rod.
Yep, Rocky is still here. Leaning against the discolored tiled wall, buff arms crossed and gray eyes fixated on me, he seems to be considering something.
Waiting, almost.
Hate sounds like a strong word, and I’m not even sure it’s the right one when it comes to Rocky. He’s only a year older than me. We grew up together, and we were tethered to the good and bad that happened more than anyone else in our families.
But the Job That Shall Never Be Named punt-kicked us in immeasurable ways. Whatever we were to each other, it just . . . changed us. We’ve been licking our wounds ever since, and aggravation and frustration simmer to the surface so much more often in his company.
He’s still a Tinrock.
Our families are permanently intertwined ever since his mom dropped a snow cone and my mom gave hers to the weeping girl. They were five. The decades-long friendship between Addison and Elizabeth is set for life. Bound further together by their crimes, and when they had children, they taught us everything they knew.