illegitimate baby. Unknown to Lucien, the servant eventually made her living quarters in the attic. They were secretively hidden in the tiny enclosed room when all hell broke loose. Supposedly, she bore witness to the entire thing.”
Henry’s mouth curled.
“Oh, there’s more, much more.”
Chapter 9
“But those stories are for another day.”
Henry’s jaw slumped. “You mean you’re going to leave me hanging like this?”
“Exactly.” I loved the cute, vexing look on his face and produced a gotcha smile. “I have to get home. My dad was mad last night when I came in so late.”
He took out his cell and checked the time. “It’s only eleven o’clock.”
“Time flies when you’re being scared to death.” We turned the corner onto Westgate. “You picking me up in the morning?”
“Yep, seven-thirty.”
I waved goodbye and entered my quiet house. Toeing the heels of my yucky sneakers, I walked into the kitchen and stopped. Crap —Dad’s upper body was sprawled over the kitchen table. Not good. He instantly popped up. His back hitting the chair, it rocked slightly. “Where the hell have you been? Two nights in a row.” Bloodshot eyeballs fastened on me. “I let you run wild after your mother died. You think I’m blind? All the drugs you were using, getting plastered to forget. I figured you needed privacy and time to heal, but now I’m reining you in kid.”
“What’s gotten into you?” I tugged out of my hoodie clipping it to a peg behind the door. “I left you a note.” The piece of paper was crumpled in his fingers. “It’s not that late, Dad. Barely eleven.”
“I don’t care,” he slurred, either from being drowsy or drunk. “I need to know where you are, who you’re with. You got that?”
“I’m almost seventeen.”
“Don’t pull the age card on me.” He rose and wobbled, definitely drunk. “If you live in my house, you follow my rules. Got it!”
Whoa, since Mom died he’d changed, and booze only made it worse. “Got it.” It was better to agree than to disagree when he was like this. “I’m going to bed.”
Striding by, he circled my arm with his fingers. “Who were you with?”
“Just Henry.” His whiskey breath stung my nose.
“I don’t like him snooping around here.”
“He’s my friend.”
“I don’t like him.”
“You don’t even know him.” His drunken eyes watered. “Dad, why don’t you go to bed? We can talk about this tomorrow.”
“There’s no debate. You mark my words.”
“Okay. Fine.”
“What do you mean by that punkass remark?”
“I’m not being a punkass. I said okay. I understand.”
He freed my arm and staggered to his bedroom. His volatile behavior had been getting unpredictable, one day caring and the next hyper. I couldn’t handle his changeable personalities. If Mom were here—but she wasn’t.
I went into my bedroom, trying not to think about it.
Forty-five minutes later, I ballooned back the covers. Ready to snuggle into bed when I heard a tap on the window, I couldn’t believe it. Henry was pestering me again. I switched off the lights and hoped he’d get the hint. He didn’t.
Minutes of consecutive tapping, I grumbled and kicked off the covers. Garbed in a skuzzy tank top and tiny boxer shorts and cussing under my breath, I zipped up the blinds and froze.
In all his glory, inclined on my house—Becket Kane.
Glad for the dark room, I hoped he couldn’t see my grunge look. With a flip of his hand, he instructed me to open up. I leaned into the glass and made another mental note—lubricate window frame. It grated up a few inches.
The wind had kicked up, and his golden hair pranced about his head. He said, “May I make an observant suggestion? You should ensure the blinds are completely closed before changing your clothes.” His mouth stretched nicely into his cheeks. “I tried not to watch, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t peek.”
Mortified—where’s the cape of invisibility
Henry’s mouth curled.
“Oh, there’s more, much more.”
Chapter 9
“But those stories are for another day.”
Henry’s jaw slumped. “You mean you’re going to leave me hanging like this?”
“Exactly.” I loved the cute, vexing look on his face and produced a gotcha smile. “I have to get home. My dad was mad last night when I came in so late.”
He took out his cell and checked the time. “It’s only eleven o’clock.”
“Time flies when you’re being scared to death.” We turned the corner onto Westgate. “You picking me up in the morning?”
“Yep, seven-thirty.”
I waved goodbye and entered my quiet house. Toeing the heels of my yucky sneakers, I walked into the kitchen and stopped. Crap —Dad’s upper body was sprawled over the kitchen table. Not good. He instantly popped up. His back hitting the chair, it rocked slightly. “Where the hell have you been? Two nights in a row.” Bloodshot eyeballs fastened on me. “I let you run wild after your mother died. You think I’m blind? All the drugs you were using, getting plastered to forget. I figured you needed privacy and time to heal, but now I’m reining you in kid.”
“What’s gotten into you?” I tugged out of my hoodie clipping it to a peg behind the door. “I left you a note.” The piece of paper was crumpled in his fingers. “It’s not that late, Dad. Barely eleven.”
“I don’t care,” he slurred, either from being drowsy or drunk. “I need to know where you are, who you’re with. You got that?”
“I’m almost seventeen.”
“Don’t pull the age card on me.” He rose and wobbled, definitely drunk. “If you live in my house, you follow my rules. Got it!”
Whoa, since Mom died he’d changed, and booze only made it worse. “Got it.” It was better to agree than to disagree when he was like this. “I’m going to bed.”
Striding by, he circled my arm with his fingers. “Who were you with?”
“Just Henry.” His whiskey breath stung my nose.
“I don’t like him snooping around here.”
“He’s my friend.”
“I don’t like him.”
“You don’t even know him.” His drunken eyes watered. “Dad, why don’t you go to bed? We can talk about this tomorrow.”
“There’s no debate. You mark my words.”
“Okay. Fine.”
“What do you mean by that punkass remark?”
“I’m not being a punkass. I said okay. I understand.”
He freed my arm and staggered to his bedroom. His volatile behavior had been getting unpredictable, one day caring and the next hyper. I couldn’t handle his changeable personalities. If Mom were here—but she wasn’t.
I went into my bedroom, trying not to think about it.
Forty-five minutes later, I ballooned back the covers. Ready to snuggle into bed when I heard a tap on the window, I couldn’t believe it. Henry was pestering me again. I switched off the lights and hoped he’d get the hint. He didn’t.
Minutes of consecutive tapping, I grumbled and kicked off the covers. Garbed in a skuzzy tank top and tiny boxer shorts and cussing under my breath, I zipped up the blinds and froze.
In all his glory, inclined on my house—Becket Kane.
Glad for the dark room, I hoped he couldn’t see my grunge look. With a flip of his hand, he instructed me to open up. I leaned into the glass and made another mental note—lubricate window frame. It grated up a few inches.
The wind had kicked up, and his golden hair pranced about his head. He said, “May I make an observant suggestion? You should ensure the blinds are completely closed before changing your clothes.” His mouth stretched nicely into his cheeks. “I tried not to watch, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t peek.”
Mortified—where’s the cape of invisibility
Similar Books
