Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 158872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 530(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 158872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 530(@300wpm)
Maybe now there’s something else to look forward to after I turn eighteen.
Remy suffered so much guilt about leaving me alone with our father that he’s a hypervigilant pain in my ass in the watching-over-me department. As his best friend, Griff also looks out for me. As much as I resent it, I understand why Griff thinks dating me would be betraying my brother. I even love him for his loyalty to Remy. I’d never want to be the cause of trouble between them.
Outside, we stop at Griff’s shiny black 1970 Chevelle. I run my fingers over the purple-and-red pinstripes that I helped Griff pick out when he restored the car a few years ago. He even hands me the keys at his friend’s racetrack sometimes.
He opens the door, and our bodies bump together. I reach up and touch his cheek. He turns his head and brushes his lips against my fingertips, sending a soft, shivery sensation to every part of my body.
“What are you doing, Molly?” he asks in a hoarse voice.
“How does your forehead feel?”
“Better.”
“Good.”
He holds my gaze for a few seconds before tipping his head toward the open door. “Come on. Get in.”
I slide into the passenger seat and turn to admire the clean, black interior. My gaze lands on the shiny baseball bat Griff keeps behind the front seat—just in case. Griff’s door opens.
“Still keep the bat back there?” I ask.
“Never know what might go down at these things.” He shrugs as if having to beat someone with a bat to protect yourself isn’t completely terrifying.
Once we’re on the highway, Griff reaches over and takes my hand. My belly dips and swirls from the simple, sweet contact. It’s romantic, a gesture from one of my favorite books. So many unspoken feelings bubble up inside me from holding his hand while he expertly guides the car along the roads that will eventually lead to my house. My only plan tonight was to see Griff in the ring. Never in my wildest fantasies did I imagine we’d kiss or end up holding hands.
“So, who drove you to Ironworks tonight?” he asks, casting a quick, questioning glance at me.
I shift away, unlinking our hands. “A friend.”
“Who?”
“Uh, Wade? He’s a friend from school.”
A deathly sort of silence descends over us. Griff grips the steering wheel tight with both hands. “You were alone in some guy’s car all the way out here?”
“I’m alone in your car right now,” I point out.
“Molly.” Disappointment bleeds into his voice.
“He’s just a friend.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about.”
I study him closely. The tight set of his jaw suggests that’s exactly what he’s worried about. I snort with annoyance. After all the ring bunnies and girls I’ve watched flirt with him at the racetrack over the years, he’s worried about one of my classmates.
He glances over again. “How’d he even know where the fight was?”
I shrug. “His older brother knows someone who was in a match.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know, Griff.” I huff and cross my arms over my chest. “I didn’t ask a bunch of questions. I just knew you were going to be there, and I wanted to see you.” I shrug. “So I asked if I could catch a ride, and he said yes.”
The corners of his mouth turn down, like he’s rolling something unpleasant around on his tongue.
“What’d you think of the place?” he asks, apparently deciding to let the Wade thing drop.
“Honestly?” My nose wrinkles. “It just looked like an old, dirty warehouse. I like The Castle better.” The Castle’s an old, rundown building too—the juvenile detention center Griff and a few of his friends were sent to years ago. Griff and my brother bought it when it went to auction and turned it into their own personal fight club. It’s in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by overgrown wilderness. “Even though it’s in rough shape, it has that whole romantic, gothic thing going for it.”
“Romantic.” Griff snorts, a dark edge creeping into the space around us. “Nothing romantic has ever happened there.”
“Then why buy it if it has such bad memories attached?” I ask.
“I don’t want anyone else having access to my ghosts.”
I’m not sure what to make of that. Griff’s never spoken much about the time he was incarcerated, even in his short letters. “But that’s how you met Vapor and Eraser, right? So something good came out of being there.”
One corner of his mouth slowly slides up. “That’s true.” He glances over at me. “Thanks.”
Pleased I brought him back from whatever dark ledge of memories he was about to tumble off, I reach over and rest my hand on his leg. He sighs, clutches the steering wheel tight, then finally rests one hand over mine, giving it a gentle squeeze.
All too soon, he pulls up in front of the old Victorian home that once belonged to my grandparents.