Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
It doesn’t change what she did, but it does have my lips tugging into a reluctant grin. No one has the balls to stand up to John Kelley. Not even me, for a long time, anyway.
I stand and scan the hellhole I used to call home one more time before deciding to leave. I used to fucking hate this place. It made me physically ill to be here, to be around my dad. To face the memory of my mom. Now, I’m just glad I got out, even if I had to go through hell.
“See you around, I guess.”
“Does that mean you’re sticking around?”
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say his voice sounds hopeful.
“For now.”
When I’m sitting in my truck, I scroll through my phone to the one number I haven’t used in years and press call. After three rings, I start to think she’s not going to answer, but on the fourth, she picks up—voice all velvety and thick with sleep.
“Hello?”
“You asked me why I do this to you. The truth is, I don’t fucking know why. But until I figure it out, you’re going to stay away from Jackson, you’re going to stay away from Adrian, and you’re going to stay away from fucking Billy Bob working over at the Circle K.”
“And why should I do that?”
“Because this isn’t finished, Briar. You and I were never just friends.”
I hang up without waiting for a response, tempted to sneak into her room and really drive my point home, but I decide to leave it. For tonight, at least.
I end up heading back to their house after driving around for a while. A couple of days ago, I called the number listed on the building permit posted in a yard a few streets over on a whim. Asked the dude if he needed a roofer, and without even wanting to meet me, he told me the house would be ready for the roof by tomorrow and to show up ready to work.
Fuck, I love my job. I don’t have to talk to anyone. I’m my own boss. I can work at my own pace, for the most part. I only take jobs when I feel like it, and if I don’t hire anyone to help me, I can bust a roof out in a few days and make a good chunk of money. That also means I’m not tied down to any one place for too long. Plus, I’ve found that when you’re hammering into shingles all day, you don’t have time to get lost in your head. And my head is not a pretty place to be.
I’m not exactly rich. Not compared to the people of Cactus Heights. But it’s sure as fuck more than I ever dreamed of making, and more than John ever made. We didn’t have money growing up, so I’m used to living modestly. Dare was the one who convinced me that I needed to spend a little to live a little, and I finally caved and bought my truck. It’s the first thing in my entire life that’s ever been mine and only mine. Besides Briar, I think, but she never really was mine.
As I’m dozing off, I remember to set my alarm and notice a text from the little devil herself.
Briar: Same goes to you. No more Whitley, or no deal.
Me: Easy enough.
I know she fell back asleep, judging by the silence when I came in, so I don’t wait for a response.
Chapter 5
Briar
Asher’s words have played on a loop in my head for the past couple of days.
“You and I were never just friends.”
Understatement of the century.
Our little agreement has me giddy, though I know better than to think it means anything other than Asher being territorial. Little does he know, I’ve already distanced myself from Jackson. It didn’t feel right, and I didn’t want to string him along. It hasn’t stopped him from texting me, though. His behavior has become slightly erratic, accusing me of being a tease for not responding to him one second, and then apologizing in the next breath. I chalk it up to him not being able to handle rejection. Guys like him never can. Pathetic.
But, after Ash’s cryptic comment about a list, I’ve wondered if there was something more sinister going on. So, against my better judgment, when he asked if he could come over to talk, I said yes. My brother and Adrian are both here—sleeping off hangovers, but they’re here—should anything go wrong. I doubt it will. I don’t think Jackson is dangerous, but I guess you never know.
I step out of the pool to get dressed before Jackson comes over. I’m bending over, grabbing my towel off the patio chair when I see him come waltzing through the sliding glass door.
“You’re early,” I say, not even having to check the time to know he’s at least forty-five minutes early. Not only that, but he let himself in. Jackson’s eyes zero in on my chest, and I look down to see that my top has slid over a little, exposing the two purple spots Asher left as souvenirs. My face burns with embarrassment as I wrap the towel around me.