Page 51 of Bound By Them
“But.” He reaches forward and smooths a strand of hair back from her face. “But…you can always call us. You need something, little angel, and we’ll be there. All you have to do is ask.”
“I won’t.”
Stubborn little girl. She takes a deep, shuddering breath, and walks away.
Edmund climbs back in my truck. We watch in silence until Dani is safely inside her house.
Is my chest caving in on itself? Feels like it. I avoid looking at Edmund and pull away from the curb in front of Dani’s house. “So that’s the end.”
“That’s the end.”
Danica
It’s been four days since Patrick’s funeral, four days since Edmund, Troy, and I decided to stay apart. And I feel…empty. Untethered. I’ve filled up pages of my math journal. No matter how complicated I make my equations and proofs, I can never lose myself for long. My thoughts keep returning to the gentle giant and the wicked king.
I shouldn’t feel this messed up over it. Because “it” was a series of hook-ups with two guys who are totally not right for me. Doomed to fail. Better to get out now.
That’s what I keep telling myself as Elias paces back and forth in front of the couch. Cackle, my cat, follows a loose thread dangling from the end of Elias’s sweatpants. Any second now, Cackle’s gonna pounce.
“Come on, you know it has to be bad.” He jabs a finger at our television screen, tuned to the local news. “No one is talking about it.”
Wallace calls from the kitchen, “No one can talk about it if the TV’s on mute.”
“It’s the weather. They aren’t going to talk about it now.” He puts on a mocking voice. “Oh, it looks like rain next week, maybe it’ll wash away the blood from the Caro Boulevard murder that the police are trying to cover up.”
When he turns to scowl at the screen, Rita raises her eyebrows at me. I don’t know what she expects me to do—I can’t control Elias’s obsessions about murder.
Cackle takes a swipe at the thread on Elias’s next pass in front of us.
“I think this is the beginning of a serial killer on the loose,” Elias proclaims.
“And I think that’s my cue to head out.” I stand up. “I promised to keep my granddad company tonight.”
Lies. I was planning on staying in and sulking. But I can’t listen to Elias’s conspiracy theories or watch Rita stroke the beautiful Baciarvita bag. Now that I know I won’t be seeing Edmund or Troy again, I regret giving the bag away.
I feed Cackle, who loses interest in Elias’s sweatpants to investigate his food dish. He takes a sniff, then turns up his nose. He gives me an outraged expression. Unfortunately for him, I’m immune to his outrage.
Twenty minutes later, I’m sitting in Granddad’s kitchen, mugs of tea next to us because he’s cutting back on coffee. He can’t stand it black—needs lots of sugar—and the cardiologist made him promise to limit sweets.
“So, everything is good?” He studies me carefully. “You are happy with your job?”
“Yes, Granddad.”
“You seem unhappy.”
I blow on my tea to avoid looking in his bright blue eyes. “I’m okay.”
“You could do the books at Silver Street, you know.”
“I like what I’m doing now, I like the ice cream parlor.” I also like that it isn’t the kind of job given to me by family. My family is close, and I’ve always loved that, but I also crave independence. Working for Isabelle makes that possible.
And now that I know what the Aseyevs really get up to, well, I vastly prefer working for Isabelle.
I want to ask Granddad about Patrick, about our family and its connections to crime, about the Laytons. But I don’t know how. My stomach swoops with anxiety every time I open my mouth.
“How are you feeling?” I blurt.
His bushy eyebrows pull together in a frown. “You are worried about me, Danica?”
