“What cookboo—” he started to ground out. I took a step forward, but only one. I stopped, folding my arms over my chest. “You know. The fourteen that my mother gave you.” It took a second, then horror filled his gaze. His head jerked backwards. His nostrils flared. “Fuck.” “Yeah.” I clipped that one out now. “Dusty. Those books, they were a gift…” “I read the notes.” I was calm. He was frantic. I saw it surging up in him. And I didn’t give a fuck. I was cold. Numb. I had moved on. I waited a half second before I drove another nail into him. “I wonder if my dad left you a note, too? Maybe he
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