Page 76 of When the Snowman Whispered
“What’s wrong?” I tucked hair behind her ears.
“I don’t deserve you and I damn sure don’t deserve your understanding of everything I just said. You’re too good of a man.”
“Your welcome.”
“What?”
“You’re telling me thank you for being so awesome.”
“No, I’m—”
My mouth stopped her words. I’d just gotten a sample of those lips and I would not pause from the feast of her. She’d have to doubt our love on her own time. For now, I hoped to catch up on all these years. And if that damn snowman brought his icy ass around, I would ruin him, chop his body into tiny bits, melt them into water, pour the liquid into separate shipping buckets, and mail him to Arizona.
She was mine.
I’d worked hard.
Addie Mae had clearly given us her blessing.
How could I not win?
Chapter 15
Daniel
N
ight came.
While Faith packed, I stood by the fire place.
Earlier, she’d confessed more about Remy. Apparently, he lived on the property and had killed himself. I didn’t even like thinking of everything she’d said. If what happened was real, then the world as I knew it was even more of a mystery than before.
These times bled with terror.
I didn’t need more things to be scared and depressed about.
Once she made me put on my shirt, I demanded that she go upstairs, get dressed, and pack. Whether she told the truth or not, I wouldn’t leave her alone. If this ice man wanted to step on my property, he’d better have a good plan.
I had a lot of ways to make him melt.
But her moans wouldn’t leave my head. They knocked against my skull. Cracks appeared, shattering my calm. I couldn’t get last night’s vision out of my mind.
“Oh, Remy.”
I grabbed my phone and pulled up google. I knew her address by heart and typed it in. If he’d lived on this property, then there should’ve been some record or even a funeral announcement about him.
I discovered even better.
There were tons of new articles on a man that had hung himself from a tree, right in front of his house. This house. Faith’s house.
At the time, it had been this man’s place. Remington Townson. He’d been in his late thirties, but committed suicide long ago. I checked the date.
1995. The year I lost Faith. Why did it have to be that year?
A shiver ran through me as I spotted that he’d committed suicide in May.
Why did it have to be that year and that month?
