Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76807 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76807 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Maybe I’d find more information when I looked through some of Clay’s shit.
Decision made, I moved around his apartment, taking stock of what was around, using a note app on my phone to make plans.
I grabbed those boxes the super talked about, and started packing away nostalgic shit that I knew I wouldn’t be able to toss in a dumpster, or shit that I thought maybe Cali would want. Photo albums, an ancient family bible with birth and death dates dating back to the early nineteen hundreds, Clay’s old trophies, school jerseys, and yearbooks.
I cleared out the shit under the cabinets and in the linen closet that weren’t really any good to anyone. Open cleaning supplies, boxes of open bandages, shit like that.
Then it was time for the closets.
Most of the clothes went right into bags for charity, but I left a few things hanging that I wondered if Cali would want. I imagine if I had a big brother, I would want to keep a shirt or two of his, wear it to remember him by kind of shit.
It didn’t seem like it should, but by the time I was done with that shit, it was already getting late enough for me to need a break and some food, then crash on his couch, feeling weird about sleeping in his bed.
The next few days were much the same, using Clay’s car to handle some errands, until, finally, I had some of the furniture picked up, and most of the bags taken out to charities.
But that damn note felt like it was hanging over my head by the fourth day.
Wouldn’t taking care of his sister mean at least checking in with her? Seeing how she was handling her grief? Let her know I was cleaning out Clay’s place? In case she wanted to help or take some shit?
With that in mind, I left the apartment behind, leaving my bike there, and taking Clay’s car instead, looking around like Cali might be hanging around or some shit.
Honestly, it was pure happenstance that I came across her.
I’d been driving to go grab some more supplies—tape, boxes, and bags—when I caught sight of a set of long legs and a gold sequin dress.
There was no reason to assume it was the same damn dress.
But I couldn’t seem to shake it even after I got my coffee and supplies, leaving me pulling up to the curb around from the club, staring at the line that only seemed longer than it had an hour or so before.
“Shit,” I sighed, reaching into the backseat for my club cut, knowing it was the only way I was getting into a club this packed.
I slid it on over my tee, finding it strange to wear it after only a few days without it on. Despite the fact that it had been my uniform for years now.
Seemed like the different phases of my life were at odds with each other.
“This is fucking stupid,” I told my reflection before climbing out of the car, kicking myself as I walked up the line, nodding my chin at the bouncer who clocked my cut, then waved me in.
The chances that the gold dress I saw was on Cali were low.
But, still, I made my way into the club, the air thick with booze, and sweat, and pheromones, the beat of the music thumping up through my shoes and through my body.
The place was enormous. And so packed that the dance floor was practically an orgy of bodies.
“I know you!” a voice said, loud in my ear to be heard over the music.
Turning, I saw strawberry blonde hair pulled up into space buns and sprayed with some sort of glitter that caught the lights as they strobed across the room.
My worlds kept colliding.
This was that club girl, the one with trouble written all over her.
“Not at the club tonight?” I asked, my gaze scanning the crowd, not wanting to give her the impression of interest.
“They’re working,” she said, pouting.
Working?
It was late.
There shouldn’t be anything work-related going on this late. Unless something had gone down.
My gut twisted, my loyalty to the club battling with my loyalty to my old best friend.
If something was really serious, Fallon would have reached out. He’d have called all the people in, personal lives be damned.
Things were fine.
Maybe just a drop out of the area, so some of the guys were driving overnight to get there on time.
The club was fine.
I had to focus on my personal life right now.
I almost scoffed at the direction of my thoughts.
It had been so fucking long since I had something even resembling a personal life. And the only reason I had one now was because the only real friend in my life had died.
“They’ll be back to entertain you,” I told the strawberry blonde.