Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 163209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 816(@200wpm)___ 653(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 816(@200wpm)___ 653(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
The moment passed as soon as Trent Knox said, “You want to tell me why she’s blowing up my phone, then?”
Jeremy spied a loose thread on the hem of his shorts and tugged at it. “Yesterday one of our rivals came by the stadium to pick a fight, and last night he turned up dead. The police need to do their song and dance to make sure none of us had anything to do with it.”
“Did you?”
That hurt enough to startle a quiet, “That’s unfair,” out of him, but Trent didn’t waste his time apologizing. The growing silence made Jeremy think he was still waiting for a real answer. Jeremy wanted to refuse him, but without a voice in his ear all he had were his thoughts. “No, sir. We were all at home or otherwise accounted for. Mom’s just trying to micromanage the aftermath. You know what she’s like.”
It was less his mother’s fault than Warren’s, but mentioning his stepfather felt a low blow. Mathilda had always known that deployments were part and parcel of Trent’s career in the Air Force, just as Trent knew she would never sacrifice her career or family home to relocate with him around the globe. Maybe they’d always known it would end in heartache, her raising his kids with another man and him missing all five—four—high school graduations. Jeremy had never asked; some fights weren’t worth getting into.
“That’s her duty as your mother,” Trent said. “Man up and stop avoiding her. I don’t need her calling me.”
“Yes, sir,” Jeremy said. “I’ll call her as soon as the police have wrapped things up here.”
“See that you do,” Trent said.
There wasn’t a goodbye; there rarely was. His father had said his piece, and the conversation was over. Jeremy lowered his phone and watched the flashing numbers indicating the call time. Not the shortest call they’d had over the years, but not the longest, either. In high school he’d kept track of each call in a notebook: what day his father called, what drove him to bridge the gap between them, and how long they’d spoken before his father decided enough was enough. In four years, Jeremy had only filled a few lines. They were strangers; they always would be. The only thread left holding them together was the name Jeremy kept.
He passed his phone back and forth between his hands, then got to his feet and headed toward his car. He heard the front door open behind him but didn’t bother to look back. He knew it’d be Laila, just like he knew she’d stop him when she realized what he was doing. He got in on the passenger side anyway and tugged open the glove compartment. Right on time, Laila reached in and pushed it shut.
“No,” she said. “You’re not allowed to stink up my house.”
“Jean?” he asked.
“Cat is keeping an eye on him.”
Jeremy scrolled through his phone in search of his mother’s number. Despite Warren’s and Trent’s insistence she was trying to reach him, he was immediately directed to her voicemail. It wouldn’t be the first time she rejected his calls in a fit of pique. He sighed as he tapped out a message to the family butler instead: “Mom home?”
It took William Hunter only a minute to check her schedule and get back with him: “She has surgery scheduled this afternoon. I have set out an appropriate outfit for tonight in your room.”
He’d just missed her, then. “Thank you.”
Laila waited until he’d set his phone on his thigh before giving his hand a short squeeze. Jeremy was afraid to return it, sure he’d crush her hand, so he settled for a quick kiss on her knuckles. She smiled, and though it didn’t reach her eyes he was comforted.
“Let’s go,” she said. “Jean needs you more than they do.”
He let her haul him out of his seat and slowed only to lock the car behind him. The living room was empty when they stepped inside, but Jeremy followed the heady aroma of fresh coffee to the kitchen. There were only three stools at the island, and while he’d half-expected Cat and Laila to bracket Jean between them, they’d given him a spot on the end. Laila reclaimed her spot while Jeremy poured himself a drink. Jeremy leaned against the short side of the island nearest Jean and studied the other man’s face.
He wasn’t sure what he was looking for. Grief? Lingering trauma? Triumph? Jean just looked exhausted. The scabs running down his face looked stark in the overhead light, and Jeremy’s gaze snagged again on the cut that went right to the corner of Jean’s eye. He cast about for something to say. Condolences for the latest tragedy to wrack the Raven line was the obvious route, considering how hard the last few had hit Jean, but Jeremy couldn’t form the words.