{18+ COMPLETE} For the past three years, Bren Hadaway has been preparing to die.
When he was sixteen, he watched his dad murder his mom. And ever since, he's been counting down the days until it was his turn to be at the end of a gun. And Bren has...
Ουπς! Αυτή η εικόνα δεν ακολουθεί τους κανόνες περιεχομένου. Για να συνεχίσεις με την δημοσίευση, παρακαλώ αφαίρεσε την ή ανέβασε διαφορετική εικόνα.
May 5th
I know you might never forgive me.
But I also know you'll never forget me.
Even as much as you probably want to.
One day I'm gonna come back, Bren.
Dad
—
Madie and I didn't stumble downstairs until nearly noon on Christmas Eve, too reluctant to leave bed—too unwilling to leave the one place where we could freely kiss and touch and cuddle.
Okay, the truth was that Madie suggested that we should get up a few times. But I just wasn't having it.
Because I knew that there were only so many more days that I'd get to have this, and I wanted—no, needed—to take advantage of it.
But it wasn't like Madie complained when I tugged her back under the covers. She smiled and fell onto me, pressing her naked body against mine. Her hands would run up my bare back until her fingers were tugging on my hair, playing with it. And then I'd get a kiss, or ten, and we'd just stay like that. And it was perfect.
Caroline already had the house in full holiday swing by the time we emerged. The smell of cloves and spices filled the kitchen, and the banging of pots and pans kept interrupting the voice of that smooth-singing Canadian fucker as he belted out It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas. Which...was true. It looked like Christmas, felt like Christmas, smelled like Christmas. The tree was lit, ornaments sparkling, a million freaking candles scattered around the living room.
But all of that could vanish, and something told me that there'd still be something in the air today. And that something was Caroline's warmth and Madie's laugh and the way they both looked at me like I actually mattered.
Sitting at the kitchen counter, I watched as the two of them made pounds—and I mean pounds—of cookies. Madie ate so much of the dough that I was starting to worry we'd be spending Christmas Eve at the ER getting her treated for salmonella poisoning.
But she hadn't stopped smiling all day, so I wasn't about to take her cookie dough away.
Once everything was baked, the frosting began. Which was probably good because at least that shit couldn't poison you if you kept licking it off your fingers. And that was precisely what Madie kept doing. I would know—it wasn't like I could look away from her.
At one point, Caroline had slipped away to use the bathroom, and Madie came strutting over to me with a dollop of frosting on her finger, swiped from straight out of the tub.
"Is it as good as Cool Whip?" I asked, thinking of the day I met her and automatically smiling.
