Echoes of Silence (Unquiet Mind Book 1) Read Free Page A

track in a conversation with you two,” he deduced, correctly. Mom and I had a tendency to go off on tangents when the mood took us. It was part of our charm.
    Luckily, it seemed that the men thought this was an amusing quality and chatted warmly and even gave us a loaner car to take in the meantime. Since it wasn’t quite ready for us to use, we couldn’t use it to go to the movies. Lucky, the smiling bald one in the coveralls had not only offered to take us, but to come with us. It was obvious, even to someone as inexperienced with such things as me, he was interested in Mom.
    It must have been obvious to someone with even more experience since Zane’s face had turned positively stormy at Lucky’s suggestion.
    He had stepped forward and all but barked at Lucky, declaring he would take us. I didn’t quite understand the dynamics of this gesture, but it filled me with warmth.
    Zane didn’t want Mom going to the movies with Lucky. That meant something, even if he spoke in grunts basically the entire ride to the theater and barely even smiled. He had insisted on paying for all the snacks and I caught moments of Zane glancing at Mom with something in his eyes. I’d even used my brilliant skills to make them sit together.
    I had been completely and utterly pleased with myself when Zane dropped us back at the garage to pick up our loaner car after the movie. “See you later, Zane,” I said with a grin as I opened the door. “You totally like it, I can tell. So you’ll come next time as well?” I asked hopefully. Mom and I had a weekly tradition of going to the movies. It was nice having his silent presence with us.
    He gave me a little eye smile, his hard eyes crinkling almost imperceptibly at the edges. He never smiled with his mouth, for whatever reason, but that was his way.
    “Maybe, Lex.”
    I beamed at him. “Saaweet, catch you later,” I called, jumping out of the truck.
    My plan was to give him and my mom a moment together. Most of it, anyway. A little part of me hoped I’d see Killian once more. It had only been two hours. I barely knew him, but I was hungry for his gaze. My eyes searched the bays, which had a few people in coveralls milling about. I then moved my gaze to what I guessed was the clubhouse. There was a grassed area in the front, and a few men milled about, wearing the same leather cuts as Zane. I squinted to see better.
    “Want me to go and ask them if they’d be willing to sit while you paint them?” a voice said at my side.
    I jumped at my mom’s presence. I had been unaware she’d gotten out of the truck so quickly.
    I pasted a grin on my face. “I’ve got what I need. I’ll do it from memory,” I shot back.
    She rolled her eyes and slung her arm around my shoulder. “Let’s get you out of here before you decide to get yourself a motorcycle,” she said, directing us away from the clubhouse.
    I resisted the urge to glance over my shoulder in one last ditch effort to see him. He would have forgotten about me already, I was sure.
     

I couldn’t stop thinking about him. It was ridiculous. Boys were never on my radar, never even in my stratosphere. I read countless books about every subject under the sun, every great literary work I could get my hands on. The Bronte sisters, Dickens, Fitzgerald. I listened to every song that I considered necessary to my existence. Kurt Cobain. Bob Dylan. Jim Morrison. Stevie Nicks. All of the things that were a part of my soul, most of them were inspired by, sparked by, and created by love and infatuation. So I was familiar with the concept, in an abstract sense.
    But never in my wildest dreams did I think I would actually be feeling something akin to what some of my favorite works had been inspired by. I was smart to know it wasn’t love, that was positively ridiculous, but seeing his inky black hair and smoke drifting out of his mouth every time I closed my eyes was bordering on insane.
    Mom had drilled me after we got home from the movie