Total pages in book: 170
Estimated words: 168980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 845(@200wpm)___ 676(@250wpm)___ 563(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 168980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 845(@200wpm)___ 676(@250wpm)___ 563(@300wpm)
I have to break my foot. I have to reach her. I have to reach her.
All the while, my eyes stay fixed on my heart who’s faltering at the edge of a cliff. “SULLI!” My voice dies in the wind as she goes over.
Her brown hair billows around her body.
I jolt awake, choking for breath.
Sweat built up, I grip at my damp T-shirt, feeling my speeding pulse. I rub at my eyes and roll over to my alarm clock. Three in the fudging morning. Great.
Awesome—so awesome.
I sit up and hug my knees to my chest. My nose flares as I recount the dream again and try to level my breathing.
Third consecutive one this week.
All three have been the same. The island. The cliff. The chains.
First one, I was at the cliff. Sulli and Banks were chained.
Second one, Banks fell over while Sulli and I screamed for him.
Now this.
I dig the heel of my palm in my eyes as emotion begins to build. “I know, Dad, I know,” I whisper to myself. He’d be dishing out so much advice if he were here right now. Telling me to listen to these nightmares. They haunt me like they did before the three of us got together. Somewhere, deep down, I’m aware how much I need them. Love them.
I can’t shake it.
It’s in me deep, and maybe one day these will just stop. Right now, that seems unlikely.
I reach over and snatch a bottle of sleeping pills from my nightstand. My eyes graze the bed on the other side of the room. Empty. Banks still stays over in Sulli’s room, and I’m glad about that. I don’t want them to break-up.
I don’t want her to be alone.
I don’t want him to lose her.
Yawning into my arm, wind whips around me.
This time, I’m not asleep in a screwed-up nightmare.
I’m on the ski slopes.
Seven days have passed since I broke up with Sulli and Banks, and in that time, I’ve coped with sleeping pills and burying my head into work.
No new leads on the mole. Which means I’m not any closer to stopping another leak from hitting the internet. Plus side: I was able to open my gym for a couple days this week. Since I’m no longer Sulli’s bodyguard, I’ve had time to manage Studio 9 myself.
But sitting behind a desk all day, answering phone calls and welcoming potential new members with their “first day free” promos has been less than stellar.
It gives me way too much time to think about them.
So when Donnelly and Quinn pulled me out of bed this morning and said we’re going snowboarding, I didn’t combat them. Didn’t tell them not to take the day off for me.
They’re my roommates, my employees, but I also know they’re my friends.
Donnelly is snowboarding on an easier hill, off on his own, and I’m at the top of a Black Diamond with Quinn. Already unmounted from the ski lift, Quinn buckles his foot to the board.
Snowboard goggles on the front of my helmet, I bring them down as the sun casts a glare on the bright white slope. “You sure you can handle this one?” I ask him.
I’ve seen him on some decently difficult runs in the past, so I’m not too worried. But he’s never been on a Black Diamond with me.
“One-hundred percent. Outside of the gym, my sister and I would spend all day on the slopes. We’re big snow bunnies.”
I give him a sideways look with a near-smile. “Back in my day, we called snow bunnies hot chicks who hang out at the lodge. Not six-foot-three Quinn Oliveiras.”
“Back in your day,” Quinn laughs. “Come on, Akara, you’re only like two years older than me—hardly a senior citizen.”
“I’m six years older,” I correct. “And your rabbity-ass is going down.” I wish I could compete with Sulli on the slopes, but at least Quinn is game for a good old-fashioned race.
Quinn is smiling as he puts on his goggles. “Catch me if you can, bro.” He’ll definitely be easy to spot. His helmet is a bright neon orange that matches his jacket and pants.
Oscar gave him shit for resembling a traffic cone, and Quinn just laughed it off. It reminded me about therapy. The scheduled therapy I have with Banks starts in a couple weeks, and I’m thinking about canceling it or…in the very least, move the start date.
Everything is too raw to hash out right now.
Quinn gives me a quick fist-bump before taking off with a laugh and exclamation of joy. He’s in high spirits after I let him know the good news on our drive here.
He’s going to be transferred to Baby Ripley’s detail.
Maximoff agreed to my proposal.
At least something is going right.
I hang on to that win. And I should follow Quinn fast—obviously, I’m racing—but something roots me here.