Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 119597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 478(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 478(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
“Just wait.” I pull his hand onto my lap. “When she breaks the news that they’re heading to the Magic Kingdom, the lion gets all dramatic, declaring that they’re all going to die. The bear’s just there for a good time, asking if there will be vodka because, apparently, that’s his thing.”
Kody grunts.
“The queen assures him that Disney has everything. But the lion claims that vodka isn’t allowed and tries to bail on the adventure. The queen’s not having it. She decides to sneak the vodka in, which wins the bear over. So they head out on their quest but immediately hit a roadblock—a literal cliff standing between them and the Disney dream.” My vision fills with tears. “That’s when the lion announces he can’t fly. Meanwhile, the bear’s a mess, spilling vodka everywhere. And the queen, in a fit of defiance, says…”
My voice breaks, the sadness overwhelming.
Kody catches my tears as they slide down my face. “What did the queen say?”
“Fuck it. Let’s jump.” I swallow a rising sob. “But they don’t. In his story, no one jumps off the cliff.”
“Come here.” Leo pulls me onto his lap and holds my face against his neck.
“I didn’t understand what he was trying to tell me. When I asked, he said the point is that lions can’t fly, bears are drunks, and…” My face crumples. “The Magic Kingdom will forever be without its queen.”
“Goddammit, Wolf.” Leo sucks in a harsh breath and leans back, taking me with him. “Fuck.”
It hurts. It hurts so fucking much.
Tears stream down my face as the story hits home, too heavy to bear.
Disney World.
Such a simple dream for a tragically broken man.
A dream that feels obtainable now.
“He should be here.” I drag my sleeve across my wet cheeks, my sniffles seething into anger. “There were so many signs. They were all there—in his stories, his sarcasm, his games. Remember when he pressed us for our red flags? When it was his turn to share, he said his red flag was that he could say his red flag with a blank face. I mean…Jesus. That was it, right there. He literally told us he was waving a red flag.”
“Frankie…” Kody exchanges a look with Leo.
“He was screaming for help, and I ignored him.”
“Stop.” Leo grips my chin, forcing my eyes to his. “With a heart like yours, you will always feel like you didn’t do enough. But you did. You did everything you could, and now you need to stop. Stop punishing yourself for the decisions he made. None of us is to blame.” He releases me, his jaw stiff. “He was wrong about a lot of things. We survived the winter, and tomorrow, we’re leaving this behind. We’re taking only the important parts with us—each other. We’ll start fresh, build a new life where the shadows of this evil place can’t reach.”
“And we’ll remember,” Kody says quietly, “not the hardships, but the moments of peace and the origin story of the three of us.”
We sit in contemplative silence, lost in a poignant sense of closure, cuddled in the calm before the storm of our escape.
Tonight, we’ll sleep one last time in the hills of shivers and shadows, where I made a bargain with the devil, killed the monster, lost my Wolf, died in a lake, and fell in love twice.
Tomorrow, we’ll attempt our most dangerous journey yet.
Tomorrow, the lion will fly.
This is it, the moment we’ve dreamed of and dreaded for months.
With a woozy stomach of nerves, I press my spine against the airplane seat and concentrate on breathing.
Kody kneels before me, fixing the harness over my shoulders and smoothing the straps with a sweetness unexpected of someone so manly and feral.
His eyes lift to mine, those dark, gooey centers swirling with concern, before they return to his task.
He checks the buckle. Clicks it into place. Tightens the straps, but not too tight. As if he’s handling something precious, something irreplaceable.
“I’m not a child.” I grip his hand, halting his fussing.
“Hush, woman.” He twists his wrist and captures my fingers, lifting them to his teeth.
“Don’t you do it.”
He bites down. Hard.
I yelp through a laugh. “You’re the child.”
“Hold still.”
He leans back, making minor adjustments and giving the harness a visual inspection, his gaze lingering.
Not in a sexual way.
This is more than a safety precaution for him. It’s a ritual, a way to express his care and say what words cannot—that, with all the looming uncertainties, ensuring my protection is something within his control.
I also think that immersing himself in preparation distracts him from the fear.
He put me in the third seat behind his. No doubt the safest seat. The crate of supplies is locked down behind Leo’s chair. A deliberate arrangement to balance our weight perfectly across the aircraft.
Of course, it wouldn’t be Leo if he wasn’t doing another inspection of the plane, examining every inch before takeoff.