Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
“What, regular old assault isn’t enough? You’re going to add aggravated assault to the list?”
I don’t answer him. I’m completely calm on the outside, even though I’m raging inside, fucking dying to bust his head open. Once he realizes I’m not bluffing, he jumps out of the way. But I’m not going for him. I’m aiming for that shiny Range Rover behind him.
I hit one headlight first, then my bat cracks against the other.
“What the fuck!”
I go for the hood next, gripping the bat with both hands, swinging it straight down.
“Okay. Okay! I get it. You’re a tough guy. You’ve made your point,” he yells, holding both hands out in front of him.
“See, I don’t think I have. I’m just getting started,” I say between hits, and I hear Jess laughing behind me.
“You’re psychotic.”
“That’s what they tell me.” Heard a lot over the years.
I bash his side mirror off next, and it falls to the pavement with a satisfying crunch. Once I go for the windshield, Eric rushes to the driver’s side. It takes a good two or three hits before I’m able to bust through the tempered glass, but it finally gives right as he starts the engine, sending glass all over him and the seats. He hits the gas and speeds off down the street, sans headlights.
I walk back over to Jess and hand him the bat. “That was fun.”
“And I didn’t even have to get my hands dirty. Now Lo won’t chew my ass out.”
“I might not be so lucky.”
Jess laughs.
“Can I use your phone?” I ask, knowing Lo is probably out of her mind at this point, worrying about Jesse. My phone is dead and forgotten in a pocket somewhere at home.
Jess looks at me, assessing, before flicking his cigarette to the ground. “Sure. It’s inside.”
I follow him inside. The first thing I notice is that it’s pitch-black, the only light coming from the flickering of a candle that sits on top of the coffee table. The second thing I notice is the fact that somehow, it feels even colder inside than it does outside.
Jesse retrieves his phone from the couch and hands it to me before sprawling out, folding his arms behind his head like this is his normal. And fuck, I can’t help but see myself in him. How many times was I without heat or electricity…or food for that matter? How long have they been living like this?
I walk into the kitchen, checking the top of the fridge and the junk drawer, until I find what I’m looking for, stuffing it into the back of my sweats.
“Let’s go,” I say, dropping his phone back on his lap.
“Where?”
“My house.”
“Nah, man. It’s late and this wrestling shit has me beat.”
“Does your sister know the power’s out?”
Jess shrugs. “No idea.”
He isn’t like most high school kids—that much is clear—but he’s still just that. A kid. He wants a warm bed and a hot meal, but he won’t say that shit. I know this because I was this kid. Too stubborn to ask. Too proud to take a handout. And that’s exactly why I won’t leave him here. I just need to present it in a way that doesn’t resemble pity.
“Your sister’s pretty freaked out. I’m sure she wants to see that you’re okay.”
He’s not dumb. He knows my angle. But he nods anyway, taking the out I offered, grabbing his backpack from the floor before stuffing a sweatshirt inside.
“I’ve gotta stop and get some gas.”
“Ride with me. I’ll drop you off at school tomorrow. I have to come back this way anyway.”
Wordlessly, Jess walks over to the door and picks up his board, sticking it underneath his arm.
Once we’re in the truck, we don’t speak. Both too fucking tired to force conversation just for the sake of it. Jess stuffs his earbuds in his ears, leaning his head against the window for the duration of the drive.
As soon as my headlights shine on my house, Lo throws open the door, standing there in my T-shirt and socks up to her knees that I recognize from my little shopping spree with Briar and Mollie, arms folded across her chest.
“Annnnd, she’s pissed,” Jesse says with a chuckle, wrapping the cord of his earbuds up before stashing them in his backpack.
We both approach her like a couple of dogs that just shit all over the carpet, but once Jess is within reach, she pulls him in for a hug. “You good?” she asks, holding his cheeks in her hands. He nods, and she ruffles his hair before jerking her chin, telling him without words to wait inside.
“I didn’t touch him,” I say before she gets a chance to speak up. “I exhibited excellent self-control.” It’s technically the truth. I took my anger out on his Range Rover instead of his face.