Trifecta: The Program Book 1.5 by N.M. Catalano

Author:N.M. Catalano [Catalano, N.M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-07-17T03:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 4

Summer

“Gwen, you have been a Godsend.”

Gwendolyn blushes. Again. But she really has, she and Mrs. Merriweather, her grandmother.

“Summer, I love working here.” Her eyes shift to her grandmother where she’s sitting at her regular table, a pair of crochet needles clicking as she works on another one of her…things, whatever it is that she works on for hours as she sits in my coffee shop while Gwen works behind the counter. “Honestly though, I think Gran loves it more than I do. I believe it gives her a sense of belonging.” Her gaze comes back to meet mine. “Something she hasn’t had in a very long time, not since Grandfather.”

She’s going to make me cry. Again.

I look tenderly at the older woman, she appears to be so content and so at ease. She makes me feel that way. “I think you’re wrong.” I pause as I watch the woman I’ve come to love and respect. “I think,” I look back at Gwen, I know she can see the emotion I’m feeling in my eyes, “that’s what she makes me feel.”

“Oh, posh,” Gwen averts her gaze, but not before I see the tears well up in her eyes. She sounds just like her grandmother. I smile broadly at her. “Listen to us, we sound like a couple of sentimental hens.”

Ever since the kidnapping, Gwendolyn and Mrs. Merriweather became the sister and grandmother I never had. They doted on me while I was recuperating from my injuries, brought me homemade soup and fresh baked pies, they even made Rock’s favorite stew, how they managed to find that out is beyond me. The two of them are like my family, them along with Bull and Gringo. Family is not people who share your bloodline. Family are those people who make you feel safe and wanted, make you feel appreciated. They make you feel loved. They are home.

Rock is my life. My breath. Each beat of my heart.

Snake? Snake is my music, knowing where to strike to make me laugh, make me cry, make me feel alive.

I feel whole with them, complete.

They’re my family. All of them.

“What are you two going on about, ‘aving a bit of a chin wag?” Mrs. Merriweather comments from her seat, not lifting her head or missing a beat, the needles still clack, clack, clacking rhythmically. “I’d bet me britches there be tons o’ work to be done, I would.”

I laugh.

“You’re right.” I bet she heard us talking about her, and that’s her way of saying ‘I’m fine, don’t worry about me.’

“’ow is our boy, Rock? The lad’s been busy, ‘asn’t ‘e? ‘e ‘asn’t come round today. That’s a fine lad, Summer. Snake too.” The clacking stops and she peers at me over the rim of her glasses with a cat-that-ate-the-canary grin, “I ‘eard you were in a bit of a fankle with your boys, I did.”

A surge of heated embarrassment floods of me.

Oh, no.

The image of Rock and Snake fucking each other in my hands, their animalistic kiss, the feeling of both of them filling me up, all of it, flashes in my mind.

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