23
After spending the night tossing and turning, waking to no alerts and Brook’s phone still switched off, and being ordered by Nate to quit moping about and pull my weight, my mood Wednesday morning could’ve had trolls seeking out their bridges to quiver beneath.
Probably the reason why I slopped on cement, and the bricks I wedged into place resembled vandalised tombstones, which was definitely why Ethan kicked me aside and confiscated my trowel.
“Move your useless hide, if you’re going to trash the job,” he’d said, ordering me off to sulk in private.
I’d done exactly that, and behind the cabin would’ve been a good pacing place—plenty of unobserved strides in which to mentally t*****e myself—if Sean hadn’t rounded the corner.
He veered my way, no doubt to speak his two penneth on the
