Total pages in book: 187
Estimated words: 174623 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 698(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 174623 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 698(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
"I was going to ask if I would have to testify against Graham," I say, this entire morning seeming so surreal.
"If this morning's incident didn't happen, yes, we would've asked, but now it won't be necessary."
I nod my head in understanding. "Is that all?"
"It is," he says. "Thank you for your time."
When I stand, I feel lighter than I have ever felt in my life. I know there's a chance this news may hit me differently later, but right now I want to ride the high of knowing Graham Whitmore is gone, and there's nothing else he can do to hurt me.
"His family," I say before I walk toward the conference room door. "What if they come after me?"
"We're monitoring all of them," Kincaid assures me. "But from what we have gathered recently, they weren't very impressed with his obsession with you, and they were already taking steps to remove him from the family business."
"This is going to make the news," I realize. "They'll know where I am."
Kincaid shakes his head. "We'll handle it. I promise."
I give him a grateful smile, knowing he's a man of his word.
Chapter 55
Nyx
I don't even know how to feel about the news that was delivered in that fucking meeting.
Whitmore’s dead. Gone. No longer an issue. At first, I was mad that someone else got the chance to take him out, but as the day continued, I realized that who killed him didn't matter, so long as he was no longer a problem for Juliet.
Then it dawned on me that with him no longer around, she had no reason to stay here. She could easily go back to her apartment, or hell, even leave the state and finally settle down and start her life all over again, building something she knew she'd never have to run from again.
I pulled her to my chest the second we stepped back in her room, and I held her there as she cried. I didn't question the tears.
I didn't know if they were of pain, relief, or just the crash that was inevitable after all that had happened.
She looked exhausted when I took a step back, and gladly took me up on the offer to get back in bed and get some rest.
I didn't join her, and when I told her I had some things to take care of, she didn't argue.
She's been in her room all day, and although I've stuck my head in a couple of times to check on her, I found myself avoiding her because I know a conversation about her plans is coming, and I'm trying to postpone her leaving for as long as I can manage.
I look down at the plate in my hand just outside of her room.
She didn't want breakfast or lunch, and I don't know how this offer is going to go either, but she's going to have to eat something at some point.
The clubhouse is quiet. It has been all day. Melissa and Caroline didn't go to work this morning. They, along with Dana and the kids, have stayed in their safe space all day.
No one else has been through the clubhouse because everyone is giving them space after the tragic news about Kayla's death.
I lift my hand and knock, shocked when she responds from the other side because she's been sleeping hard most of the day.
"Come in."
I turn the doorknob and stick my head inside to find her sitting at the head of the bed with her phone in her hands.
"I brought you something to eat."
Her nose scrunches as if the thought of food makes her stomach turn.
I don't know the reasoning behind the reaction. I've been through some shit in my life, but nothing that made me lose my appetite for this long.
Is she living in regret? Worrying that she did things wrong for it all to end this way? Is she sad that he's gone? Struggling with the relief his death brings? Is it a combination of all of those and some things I haven't even considered?
"You have to eat," I say as I step inside and place the plate with the turkey sandwich and small bag of chips on the dresser.
I don't cross the room to her. I don't know what capacity she needs me in right now, or if she even needs me going forward.
"I'll eat eventually," she assures me, but offers nothing further.
"You'll have to come out of this room eventually, too," I say, wondering if that will be the trigger for her to discuss her future plans.
"How many people are out there?"
"No one," I tell her.
"At the pool?"
"Not a soul."
"Want to sit with me by the pool?"
"I'd love to," I tell her.
She stands, sliding her feet into a pair of sandals before crossing the room.
She glances from me to the plate of food, as if she's considering its existence.