Total pages in book: 206
Estimated words: 207638 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1038(@200wpm)___ 831(@250wpm)___ 692(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 207638 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1038(@200wpm)___ 831(@250wpm)___ 692(@300wpm)
Is it any wonder then, that he’s still mad at me?
“Why?” my brother asks curtly, pulling me out of my thoughts, pulling me out of those few hours that were the scariest of my life.
“Because I need to know,” I say with almost a strangled voice. “Because I… I need to know what you did, Con. H-how you took care of it. I’m sorry I never asked before. I was too scared. Too embarrassed to ask you. But I should have. I should have been a good sister like you were a good brother. I should’ve asked what you went through to… to get me off. What you did to get me free.”
Or almost free.
He’s silent for a few seconds.
And my heart is thudding in my chest. My heart that’s broken and beaten and so painful to live with is pounding and pounding as I wait for my brother to say something.
Anything.
As I hear his words over and over.
I didn’t bring your brother that deal…
“Nothing,” Conrad clips.
“What?”
“I did nothing.”
“I don’t understand.”
His exhale is sharp and short. “I didn’t have to do anything. It was him.”
The way my brother says him, I don’t have to ask who he’s talking about. His tone is all harsh and clipped and self-explanatory.
“W-what do you mean?” I ask.
“It means that I was all ready to go to court and fight this thing. I was all ready to hire a lawyer and teach that rich prick a lesson. But he called me and he said that he’d gotten all the charges reduced and all you had to do was attend St. Mary’s. I was opposed to it. I didn’t like it. I didn’t like his fucking face. And I told him that. I told him that I’d go to court and fight his bullshit charge. And that fucking punk reminded me that even if I did go to court, I would never win. Because the Jacksons own the town. They own the police, the judges, the lawyers. And so this was the only way. And when I told him that I was going to break his fucking face for what he did to you, he was generous enough to say that I was welcome to it. Only I’d have to take a fucking number because Ledger wanted to get there first.”
Conrad has never ever spoken so many words together, in one conversation.
And the fact that he did it now convinces me that he still has a lot of anger inside of him. At me, at him.
At his old star player.
Con has always hated the rivalry between Ledger and Reed. But he’s especially hated Reed for being reckless and selfish on the field.
But I don’t get it.
Why have me arrested in the first place and then have the charges reduced? Just like that.
“W-why would he bring you the deal when he was the one who pressed charges?”
A moment passes.
Then two, and I’m about to prod him because I can’t take it anymore, but Conrad breaks his silence. “It wasn’t him.”
“What?”
“It was his father.”
“His father?”
“Yes.”
“B-but they said Mr. Jackson and…”
“He’s not the only Mr. Jackson, is he?”
He isn’t, no.
He’s not the only Mr. Jackson.
But for the life of me it never ever occurred to me that his dad would be involved. The man I’d never even seen. Not once in all the times that I’d been to their house.
He was always either away for business or at the office.
I saw their mom once though.
She was on the balcony, looking so small and beautiful with her blonde hair fluttering in the wind. I guess Tempest and Reed both get their dark hair from their father.
The man who had me arrested for stealing his son’s car.
“So you… knew this the whole time?”
“Yes.”
Oh my God.
I press a hand on my stomach and lean against the booth.
All this time, I thought it was him.
Because it was his car, the thing that he loved the most. So it made sense that he’d want to punish me for stealing it. And strangely, those charges hurt me even more.
Because he cared about his car more than he ever cared about me. Which I knew already but still.
He didn’t though.
He didn’t.
He had the charges reduced. He… he brought my brother the deal.
I can barely draw a proper breath or form a coherent thought in my head. But still, I make myself ask my brother, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Why do you think?”
“You knew that I thought it was him. You knew that. Why didn’t you tell me if you knew?” I ask, tears welling up in my eyes.
“Because you’re naïve, Callie,” he snaps, his voice making me flinch, and my tears fall harder. “Because I didn’t want you to paint him as a hero who swooped in to save you after everything that he did. Because I wanted to protect you. Because I wanted you to be smart. I wanted you to move on and live your life and think about your future. I didn’t want you to waste your life over a guy like him. A guy you almost destroyed your life for. A guy who broke your heart and made you cry.”