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)
Despite everything, I’m slightly disappointed, but I ignore it and get inside and then I have other thoughts. Other things to contend with besides his changed reaction.
Things like I’m inside his Mustang after two years. His Mustang.
Somewhere I never thought I’d be.
And those trembles intensify.
I shake as hard as his car does when he snaps the door shut after me.
Last time I was in this car, I drove it into the lake.
I was crying and shaking and in so much pain. And strangely it comes back to me that on that night, his Mustang smelled the same as it does tonight.
Wildflowers and woods.
And his seats, they feel the same too. The same plush smooth leather. The carpet even. Everything feels the same, cozy and warm and thrilling.
When Reed gets inside, I want to ask him about it.
I want to ask him how he managed that.
How he managed to put it all back together the same way as before.
He must be good then, right? Extremely good with cars if he could achieve this level of perfection. And I want to ask him.
I want to ask him why he never told me that he worked at a garage, that he has this amazing talent. So much so that he built this car with his own hands. Why he never shared those things with me, those little parts of himself.
Well, because he never loved you, Callie. You never meant anything to him.
Right. Of course.
There’s nothing for me to say to him then and so I let him drive me back to St. Mary’s in silence. Soon though, the ride comes to an end and we reach our destination.
He parks the car by the side of the road and I know that I should get out and leave. I should walk back through the woods and scale that fence to go back to my room.
But I can’t.
Because there is something that I want to say to him. There is and I can’t let it be.
I can’t keep quiet anymore.
Not when I’ve been wanting to do this for the past two years.
I’ve been wanting to do this since the moment I saw his Mustang disappear into the lake.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt out.
There’s no indication at all that he heard me. He’s staring straight through the windshield. I’m not sure what he’s staring at though; it’s all dark.
But I don’t let that deter me.
I hug my bag to my chest and continue, “About your car.”
Yes, I’m apologizing.
Because I’m a good person. I feel guilt. I feel regret. I’m not like him.
At this, there is some movement — the clenching of his jaw — that alerts me that he’s more attuned to my words than he’s letting on. I’m not sure if it’s a good thing or bad, that clench, but as I said, I won’t be deterred. “You hurt me that night. You broke my heart, and even though you deserved all my hatred and all my anger, you still do by the way, I never should have done what I did. I never should’ve stolen your car and driven it into the lake. I don’t know what I was thinking. I wasn’t thinking, I guess. I was… I was hurt and in pain and I just wanted to hurt you back. And your Mustang seemed like the best way to do that and —”
“I know.”
I blink. “What?”
His jaw moves again, all tight and rigid. “I hurt you. So you wanted to hurt me back. I know that.”
“I didn’t know,” I blurt out.
"Didn’t know what?
"That you’d built your car.” His grip goes tight on the wheel and before he can say anything, I speak. “I didn’t know that. I knew you loved it but I didn’t know that you’d built this car yourself. I didn’t even know that you could do something like that, Reed. I had no idea. I had no idea that you worked in a garage and —”
“Who told you?” he cuts me off.
His jaw is ticking and I fist the fabric of my backpack because I know he’s angry. Extremely angry.
His wolf eyes shine a different way when he’s angered. They become all dark and dangerous, narrowed. His jaw becomes a true V, as if his agitated emotions have chiseled it down.
This is exactly what used to happen back on the soccer field, with Ledger. This is how all their fights would start, and I know from experience that I should back off now.
He wouldn’t physically harm me, of course, but I shouldn’t anger him further.
But I don’t care. So I tell him, “Tempest.”
“Tempest,” he bites out.
“Yes, but you have to know that she didn’t tell me this for the longest time. And she wasn’t going to. She was going to keep your secret. It was me. I forced it out of her. It’s my fault. Not hers.”