Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 121233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
“I know how he treats you,” he said, his nose flaring, chest puffing like he was my shining knight riding in to save me. “That’s enough.”
I fought the urge to laugh, letting out a long, slow sigh. “Shawn, I promise — it’s not all that I made it seem. You don’t—”
“Don’t tell me I don’t understand. I saw how he made you cry, how he made you feel worthless and disrespected with his mouth on another girl’s body right in front of you.”
I battled with the decision on whether to tell him about the whole ruse, but decided it wasn’t for him — or anyone else — to know.
“We’ve worked through things,” I landed on, reaching out to squeeze Shawn’s forearm. “And I’m sorry I brought you into the situation. I shouldn’t have. It was wrong of me, and selfish. But… we’re okay now. We’re better than okay.”
Shawn shook his head. “Don’t you see? This is how guys like him work. They’ll push and push you until you’re on the edge of leaving, and then they’ll do whatever it takes to lure you back in. It’s him who’s the selfish one.”
My defenses shot up, more for Clay than for myself. “I’m done having this conversation. You don’t know him. You don’t know me, for that matter.”
“That’s not for my lack of trying.”
I blew out a breath, though I couldn’t deny how his words stung. It wasn’t like me to play games with people, and though I hadn’t really intended to — that was exactly what I’d done with him.
“I have to go,” I said. “Take care, okay?”
Before he could say another word, I turned, heading toward the stadium and leaving him on the sidewalk outside the café. I felt bad for him, for the game we’d played that had worked so well. We’d fooled him and Maliyah and everyone else around us, too.
But I shook it off, deciding it was better to leave all that in the past.
And I continued floating on, basking in my sugary, pastel paradise.
Clay
I’d forgotten about her.
Perhaps that was the wrong way to phrase it, because it sounded like I never thought about my mom — and I did. I thought about how I couldn’t wait to introduce her to Giana, how delighted she’d be when I told her we were coming home for Christmas. I thought about her cooking in the kitchen with G, teaching her how to make our favorite salmon croquets, and pulling out old photo albums of me as a kid while I pretended to be embarrassed.
But I’d forgotten about her quitting her job because she thought her ex would take care of her.
I’d forgotten how beat up she was mentally and emotionally, how she was having trouble doing more than getting out of bed, let alone looking for a job. I’d forgotten about her using, about the way I could tell by her words slurring over the phone.
Maybe it was because she hadn’t called after the last time, when I took out a student loan and sent her enough money to get through at least a month, if not two. Maybe it was because I wanted to assume the best, that she was okay, that she was working on getting a job and finding herself. Maybe it was because I was so caught up in Giana that I simply hadn’t thought about anything else.
Regardless, the fact that I’d forgotten about her struck me like a frying pan to the head when her face lit up my screen after practice on a Thursday afternoon in early November.
My stomach dropped, veins running icy cold as I stared at the word Mom and felt the phone vibrating in my hand. It was selfish, how I didn’t want to answer because I didn’t want to face her misery, her pain, her tears.
And the fact that once again, I’d have to find a way to help her.
I was running out of ideas.
My heart was heavy, a sandpaper knot in my throat as I slid my thumb across the bottom of the screen and plugged my headphones in, setting my pace toward my dorm room.
“Hey, Mom,” I answered. “You okay?”
“Oh, sweetie,” she answered on a sniff, the words garbled by crying.
I braced myself.
“I’m more than okay.”
Something more like confusion, rather than relief, found my next exhale, especially as Mom continued to cry as I waited for her to explain.
“We’ve been blessed with a miracle,” she said. “The Lord has shined his almighty light upon us.”
I stopped walking. “Holy shit, did you win the lottery?”
“Language!” She chastised with a laugh. “And I guess you could say I did.”
“Mom, what’s going on?”
I continued walking, hiking my bag up over my shoulder.
“It’s Cory.”
I frowned, and though I had no reason to be anxious, something inside me was on high alert. “Cory? As in Maliyah’s dad?”