Skeletons of Us (Unquiet Mind Book 2) Read Online Free Page B

I did not want them anywhere near the circus, not like it was now.
    I almost heard her disbelieving frown on the phone. “Not according to TMZ . According to them, you’re beside yourself and are refusing to eat or sleep.”
    I rolled my eyes, swiveling on the stool so I faced the floor-to-ceiling glass that overlooked the valley and various trees. From this spot, it looked like my house was in the middle of nowhere, secluded. It was as secluded as you could get in Hollywood, nestled up a hill and disguised by huge trees. My driveway was long and winding, but I still had neighbors at the bottom of it.
    “Well, if they reported it, it must be true.”
    “Good, because someone else said you’re carrying his lovechild and I’m knitting booties as we speak,” she deadpanned.
    “Come on, Mom… you don’t knit.”
    She sucked in a gasp, and I could just imagine her holding her hand up to her chest dramatically. “I do so. I’m an excellent knittress,” she argued. “I’m getting all my grandmotherly duties underway. I baked cookies not one hour ago.”
    I raised a brow. “You baked cookies,” I repeated, my voice saturated in skepticism.
    There was a pause. “Okay, I didn’t exactly bake said cookies. Zane baked them.”
    “ Zane baked them?” I repeated in disbelief. The image of Zane, my big, bad, tattoo-covered, biker, leather-wearing, all-around-badass father donning an apron and baking cookies was enough for me to let out a snort of laughter. A real one.
    “The word bake may be a slight stretch,” Mom corrected. “He made some cookie dough mixture, threatening some very serious punishments if I told anyone about making said mixture, obviously telling you doesn’t count.” She paused. “Plus, I would like to see what punishment he has in mind—”
    “Mom. Remember you’re talking to your daughter right now,” I reminded her. “I don’t want to have to find one of those memory eraser things like they have in Men in Black .”
    “Whatever. Anyway, he had to answer a call outside, because I’m known to eavesdrop on conversations that are meant to be for ‘club members only.’” I could also imagine her air quoting that to go with her sarcastic phrasing. “Which means it’s his fault really, and he had no reason to be mad at me when he came back in.”
    “What was his fault?”
    Mom sighed dramatically. “I’m pregnant. Obviously, that’s his fault too, but leaving a pregnant woman alone with an entire bowl of cookie dough? What did he come down in the last hot-guy shower?” she asked me seriously. “Of course I was going to eat the entire bowl. I’ve got cravings.”
    I didn’t add in that she would have most likely eaten the entire bowl if she hadn’t been pregnant; this conversation was far too entertaining.
    “Then he started, like, freaking out about the fact I ate it all, like I endangered our unborn child by eating some raw cookie dough. Seriously, you would have thought I’d just drank an entire bottle of tequila the way he carried on.” She paused. “I miss tequila,” she declared wistfully.
    “Mom, you’ve actually met Zane, right?”
    “Well, I’ve been married to the man for four years and have a terrorsome toddler with him, so we’re aquatinted,” she said dryly.
    “Then you know he’s protective. Beyond protective. They need to invent a word for just how much he worries about you. With good reason.” I remembered the dramas of years ago, of Mom getting kidnapped by my insane father, of him nearly killing her. Then even further back when Zane lost his first girlfriend. When she was murdered. Yeah, he kind of had good reasons to be protective. Life had punched him in the gut so many times, I bet he was walking around bracing himself for the next blow.
    “And you’re pregnant,” I added. “This is also another reason for him to be a little more high-strung than normal.”
    “High-strung?” she repeated. “Yeah, you can call making me call the fricking