Thatcher goes very still, only his throat moving as he swallows.
The thought of him on his knees, swallowingmedown, is making my cock twitch.
“Are youpropositioningme?” he croaks. Surprisingly, he sounds more amused than disgusted.
“I’m leaving.” I hold his gaze. “The bourbon at my house is leagues better than the piss they sell as top shelf around here. And if you’re not a hard liquor man, I’m sure I’ve still got a six-pack somewhere. You could ask me anything you want. I might even answer youtruthfully.”
Thatcher’s mouth opens. Closes.
He doesn’t say no.
He doesn’t shove me away again.
He just stands there with me, side by side, staring at me like I’ve just offered him the Holy Grail and he can’t figure out what the fucking catch is.
Because there is none.
He wants the truth? I’ll give it to him.
And he’ll reject every word because he can’thandlethe truth.
No one can.
Chapter 43
Kai
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
I can’t believe I’m about to walk into my house with Haven Lee for Thanksgiving dinner like we’re a normal fucking family. It’s insane.
We’re not normal.
We’ve never been normal.
Normal families don’t have a father who uses his belt like a fucking weapon. Normal families don’t have mothers who pretend they don’t hear the screaming. Normal families don’t have brothers who?—
“Hey, you okay?”
Haven’s voice drags me back to the present.
I blink. We’re standing at the front door. I don’t remember getting out of the Uber. Don’t remember walking up the flagstone path.
“You got this,” she says firmly, taking my hand and giving it a hard squeeze. A gust of wind flicks her hair over her shoulder,and she uses her free hand to draw the lapels of her chocolate-colored wool coat together at her throat.
She looks amazing in her cream turtleneck and brown plaid skirt. She made a random comment about not knowing what to wear earlier this week, so I took her to Agony Hollow’s only mall to pick out some clothes.
I should be the one comforting her, not the other way around.
Shit’s about to get real.
My mother doesn’t know I’m bringing Haven. She’d probably have withdrawn her invitation if I’d said anything.
When I just stand there, thoughts spiraling deeper and deeper, Haven reaches out and presses the doorbell.
My mother answers the door wearing head-to-toe Chanel and a stiff, Botoxed smile. Her blonde hair is blown out to perfection, and her ‘natural’ makeup probably took her an hour to apply.
