Read Online Kestrel (Hart Briothers #3) by A. M. Hargrove - Free Book Online
Authors: A. M. Hargrove
Ads: Link
favorite place, particularly on cold, clear nights
during winter. The stars are amazing. If I listen closely enough, I can almost
hear the patter of Ells’ feet running up and down the driveway. Every time I
think of leaving, I worry that memories of her will fade into nothing. And my
little baby ghost will disappear forever.
“Oh,
Ells, what am I gonna do? I tried to keep it. I really did. But it looks like
it’s not going to work out for us anymore.”
Guzzling
the remainder of my wine, I walk back inside and refill my glass. Then I go
back to my seat by the pool. The water seems a fitting place for me tonight.
The anniversary of Ells’ death. Four years. Four long,
horrible years without her. Has it gotten any better? I can’t answer
that because I don’t really know. I live in a state of perpetual numbness now.
The only thing that drives me, that allows me to feel is my work.
Everything else is plain emptiness.
“Well,
Ells, I did it. I’m sorry I wasn’t at the beach yesterday, sitting in our usual
place, but I was too upset about the house. And tonight … well, I worked late
and time got away from me. Anyway, I got the contract and the funds for our
research, baby. All the hard work is paying off. Of course, nothing is the same
without you. But at least I will have something to show for it. And it will all
be named after you someday. The Ells Project—Death Code
for Cancer. It will all be for you, baby. God, I miss you. I lied to
Uncle Foster today. It never gets better, only worse. Every day I wake up, I
wonder what you’d look like. How tall would you be? How long would your hair
be? Would it still be blonde and curly? Would your eyes still be as blue? Would
your laugh still be the same? Every day I ask myself those questions. And I
carry your pictures with me everywhere. And wonder over and over why I ever
left you. Why did I go to that seminar? I’m so sorry, baby. So goddamn sorry.”
It’s
like this every time. I never realize how hard I cry until I wake up several
hours later with swollen, wet eyes, and a stuffy nose. I drag myself up to bed.
At least this time I’m home instead of the lot at Sullivan’s Island, and don’t
have to get in a car and drive. I don’t bother changing into pajamas. There’s
no one here anyway. Pulling the covers up, I let sleep claim me. Sleep is the
only place where I can find solace because that’s where I see Ells. That’s
where Ells waits for me with open arms, laughing, with her long curly locks all
tangled and salty from the sea. It’s there she tells me how happy she is and
not to worry about her anymore. And it’s there I know she’s safe.
Chapter
Six
Kestrel
It’s
seven o’clock when I ring the doorbell. About thirty seconds later, she answers
the door. Whoever picks out her clothes needs to be shot. She’s wearing mom
jeans. I swear to God. They look like they’re from the early nineties. My
mother, who is in her sixties, wouldn’t even wear these things. And don’t even
get me started on her shirt. It has ruffles on it. Up to the neck.
Puritan style. Who the fuck wears ruffles? They’re so hideous, it’s hard to tear my eyes off of the damn things. She’s a sex repellant .
And she notices me staring.
Her
hand hovers over her neck. “Okay, so I don’t have the latest in fashionable
clothing,” she huffs.
I’m
not even sure how to respond to her. Her hair isn’t bad, if she’d only brush
it. Unfortunately, the tangled mess looks more like an osprey’s nest than
anything else. I wonder what would happen if it escaped from its elasticized
prison of a ponytail? It might be a danger to society. And
the glasses. I get it. She needs them. But choose a stylish pair for
fuck’s sake.
“Right.
Do you have any wine by any chance?” I really need to divert the subject here.
Hell would freeze over before I could ever sleep with her. Getting a boner
would be like resurrecting the dead.
“Oh,
sorry. Come in the
during winter. The stars are amazing. If I listen closely enough, I can almost
hear the patter of Ells’ feet running up and down the driveway. Every time I
think of leaving, I worry that memories of her will fade into nothing. And my
little baby ghost will disappear forever.
“Oh,
Ells, what am I gonna do? I tried to keep it. I really did. But it looks like
it’s not going to work out for us anymore.”
Guzzling
the remainder of my wine, I walk back inside and refill my glass. Then I go
back to my seat by the pool. The water seems a fitting place for me tonight.
The anniversary of Ells’ death. Four years. Four long,
horrible years without her. Has it gotten any better? I can’t answer
that because I don’t really know. I live in a state of perpetual numbness now.
The only thing that drives me, that allows me to feel is my work.
Everything else is plain emptiness.
“Well,
Ells, I did it. I’m sorry I wasn’t at the beach yesterday, sitting in our usual
place, but I was too upset about the house. And tonight … well, I worked late
and time got away from me. Anyway, I got the contract and the funds for our
research, baby. All the hard work is paying off. Of course, nothing is the same
without you. But at least I will have something to show for it. And it will all
be named after you someday. The Ells Project—Death Code
for Cancer. It will all be for you, baby. God, I miss you. I lied to
Uncle Foster today. It never gets better, only worse. Every day I wake up, I
wonder what you’d look like. How tall would you be? How long would your hair
be? Would it still be blonde and curly? Would your eyes still be as blue? Would
your laugh still be the same? Every day I ask myself those questions. And I
carry your pictures with me everywhere. And wonder over and over why I ever
left you. Why did I go to that seminar? I’m so sorry, baby. So goddamn sorry.”
It’s
like this every time. I never realize how hard I cry until I wake up several
hours later with swollen, wet eyes, and a stuffy nose. I drag myself up to bed.
At least this time I’m home instead of the lot at Sullivan’s Island, and don’t
have to get in a car and drive. I don’t bother changing into pajamas. There’s
no one here anyway. Pulling the covers up, I let sleep claim me. Sleep is the
only place where I can find solace because that’s where I see Ells. That’s
where Ells waits for me with open arms, laughing, with her long curly locks all
tangled and salty from the sea. It’s there she tells me how happy she is and
not to worry about her anymore. And it’s there I know she’s safe.
Chapter
Six
Kestrel
It’s
seven o’clock when I ring the doorbell. About thirty seconds later, she answers
the door. Whoever picks out her clothes needs to be shot. She’s wearing mom
jeans. I swear to God. They look like they’re from the early nineties. My
mother, who is in her sixties, wouldn’t even wear these things. And don’t even
get me started on her shirt. It has ruffles on it. Up to the neck.
Puritan style. Who the fuck wears ruffles? They’re so hideous, it’s hard to tear my eyes off of the damn things. She’s a sex repellant .
And she notices me staring.
Her
hand hovers over her neck. “Okay, so I don’t have the latest in fashionable
clothing,” she huffs.
I’m
not even sure how to respond to her. Her hair isn’t bad, if she’d only brush
it. Unfortunately, the tangled mess looks more like an osprey’s nest than
anything else. I wonder what would happen if it escaped from its elasticized
prison of a ponytail? It might be a danger to society. And
the glasses. I get it. She needs them. But choose a stylish pair for
fuck’s sake.
“Right.
Do you have any wine by any chance?” I really need to divert the subject here.
Hell would freeze over before I could ever sleep with her. Getting a boner
would be like resurrecting the dead.
“Oh,
sorry. Come in the
Similar Books
