"You like being around books all day?"
"No, I love it. I've always loved to read, ever since I was a little girl, so this is really my dream job."
"Yeah?" Something flickers in his eyes. "What's your favorite book? Bet you've hand one since then."
"My first real book was The Hobbit. My grown-up answer is To Kill A Mockingbird. But my off-record answer? A shark shifter romance. Which is also funny because I'm terrified of sharks."
"A shark…shifter?"
"Like a werewolf, but a shark. It's not as insane as it sounds, I swear." I pause, laugh. "Actually, yes it is."
He chuckles, but there's something underneath--wistful? Sad?
"That's real nice. Reading's a gift."
Duke has calmed down enough that I can pet him without getting head butted, and I watch Danny. That strange feeling like I should know him slips over me again, and I try to look deeper to see if I can place him.
But my phone buzzes in my lap.Mom.
What levity I've found sinks away again. "Oh, sorry. I should--"
"Of course. Sorry to bother you." Danny reaches for Duke's leash as I answer.
"Hey, Mama--is everything--"
Mom and Dad are both there, happy, smiling, normal.
"Sorry about that, chicken," Mom says. "Tell me about your spring break plans!"
Danny goes still. The color drains from his face, his eyes shielded by his cap. Without a word, he grabs Duke's leash and backs away, not waving, not smiling, just retreating.
Confused, I wave, calling, "Bye! Nice to meet you!"
He doesn't look back.
Dad's voice is weird again. "Who was that?"
"Just a neighbor saying hello."
I watch him go, something nagging at me, but my parents are talking, asking me questions, and I head inside, appeasing them on autopilot. There's a tension between them I clock. Mom is off. Dad is too cheerful. Something happened. Something they're not telling me.
But I can't ask. So I file it away.
Get through this, and Grey will be here. And in a few days, we'll have eleven of just us. Mom will tell me when she can.
And the rest can wait.
CHAPTER 43
MOUTH OF THE SOUTH
GREY
Practice is finally winding down, and thank fucking god.
It's Thursday, and somehow, I survived this week and all the torture it tried to bury us with. Shit talking and gossip, looks and whispers--it's multiplied, amplified. It's been the worst for Molly. I'm used to it. She isn't. And it drives me fucking crazy that people will not leave her alone. Seeing her hurt does something violent to me. My neck is killing me from being constantly tense, and the only reason I slept at all was because she was in my arms.
I feel threadbare, worn down, and defiant as hell. Every day, I've woken up to take one look at Molly and say,Just get through today. One more day.And live in my stolen moments with her, appreciating every second.
