Incendiary by Kathryn Kelly Read Free Book Online Page A

still used as my ringtone blasts through the room, so I waddle back to the table near the sofa. Lifting my cellphone in one hand and the television’s remote control in the other, I absently answer the phone, sit down on the couch and flip the television channel.
    “George?” The voice I haven’t heard in months seeps through the line. The other voice, I mean. Crowell. The one who was once my lifeline. Now, I only wish this was Sloane.
    “Georgiana.”
    “Hey.”
    “Hey, babe. How are you?”
    I bite my lip, still freaked by the detective’s visit.
    “Are you okay?”
    “Um, yeah. Fine.” It’s odd that Crowell is calling now, after so many months. In case Detective Jackson put him up to this, I keep quiet about the baby. Immediately, Crowell would know who the father is.
    “Do you miss me?”
    I swallow. Do I? I don’t know. Nights are wrought with discomfort, as I can find no comfortable position in bed. Turning on either side doesn’t help. My past few nights of hell are thanks to Kiln’s call and Detective Jackson’s visit. With my thoughts roaming in all directions, beginning and ending with Sloane, I’ve gotten very little sleep. I’m too exhausted to miss anyone other than Sloane. That includes Crowell.
    He sighs. “I’ll take that as a no.”
    “I miss you a little,” I relent, not wanting to hurt him. “Things had gotten out of hand. I was using way too much.” Despite how good he was to me, something else bugs me, and as much as I want to let it go, I can’t. “You hit me.”
    After that evening, my life took a sharp turn, so I’ve never confronted him. He’s the last person I ever believed capable of raising a hand to me.
    “I’m sorry, George,” he says gruffly. “I should never have struck you. Don’t hate me, baby.”
    My heart softens at his sadness. I know how despair feels and I don’t want Crowell to suffer as I have. He was once my friend, always upbeat and keeping watch over me. Wanting to reply to his kindness, I search for a topic to cheer him up. “How’s Lana?”
    “Good. I guess,” he adds on a huff of laughter. “I haven’t seen her recently.”
    I swallow, detecting his loneliness. “I’m sorry.”
    “Things happen, George.”
    “I know. I’m just sorry they’re happening to you.”
    “So you forgive me?” he whispers in a coaxing tone, the same he’d use when he wanted oral sex.
    At first, I was so shy about opening my legs so he could put his mouth on me. It was even worse when he convinced me to reciprocate. However, Crowell had a way about him, always knowing the right thing to say to put me at ease. “You’re my little sweetheart. I don’t think I can go on if you don’t accept my apology.”
    I giggle at his bullshit. “Con artist.”
    His laugh is easier this time, and I smile, happy his tone is lighter. “Do you forgive me?”
    “Of course.”
    “Then why haven’t you told me you’re pregnant?” His hurt blasts over the phone line. “Why did I have to find out from your mom?”
    An answer eludes me. I didn’t intend to tell him now because of the detective, but why didn’t I call him months ago? He deserved better than second-hand information.
    Already on overload, I won’t ask why he’s talking to my mom. Maybe, he’s sleeping with her too, just like Sloane did. My tolerance level for such news is lacking. Not because I’m jealous over Crowell, as I am about Sloane. It’s just weird to think about Mom sleeping with my lovers. I grunt at my hurt, quickly pushing it aside. This isn’t about me. Or Mom. Or how confused I am over her. I still want to talk to her, even after she didn’t care if I lived or died.
    “The baby is his. Sloane’s,” Crowell guesses.
    I choose who my deeper loyalty belongs to. Sloane . I remain silent.
    “I wish it were mine,” he says huskily, surprising me. “I should’ve claimed you when I had the chance. Taken you, like he has. I love you, Georgiana. I’ll always love you.”
    He chokes