Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 103109 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103109 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
“Not quite a decade,” I whisper, thinking of that night in Chicago. She hadn’t talked to me in years, but when she needed someone, she came to me. That meant something.
Her eyes narrow to slits. “Are you planning to rub my nose in my mistakes?”
“Shay—”
“I don’t care if you like George or if you think my relationship is doomed to fail, but I’m not going to let you stir up trouble where there is none.”
“I’m not stirring anything. I’m just stating facts. I heard him on the phone, and he—”
She holds up a hand. “Stop. Just . . .” She shakes her head, her jaw tight. “Please just stop.”
“I don’t want him to break your heart.”
“Right. Because I guess that’s your job.”
The blow lands just as she intended it to, and I flinch. “I never wanted to break your heart either.” The last word sounds as broken as I feel.
She tilts her face up toward the sky, and I can’t help but notice how pink her cheeks are in the cold, how red her lips are. “You think that just because you’re back here, just because you’re not married, we should go to dinner, catch up. I should dump my boyfriend and let you be part of my life. Hey, maybe when it’s convenient for you, I could take you back to my place and we could find out if I’ve picked up any new skills in bed in the last seven years?”
I suck in a breath. “You really hate me, don’t you?”
“You broke me.” She might as well have just plunged a knife in my gut. It would hurt less, but I can only swallow and take it. I deserve every word. “Forgive me if I’m not rushing to sign up for another round.”
She walks away, and all I can do is lean against the side of the building and press a hand to the ache in my chest.
Shay
It’s snowing again, and I stare at the flakes falling outside the window when I should be giving my attention to this stubborn dissertation chapter.
George is always hot and keeps his apartment cool, so I’m bundled on the couch in my hoodie and a pair of leggings, a fuzzy blanket tucked around me. George sits at the kitchen table, grading papers. A month ago, I considered this my happy place. But since Easton came home, my time with George feels forced, like I’m faking my way through a relationship that was never meant to go this far. My phone buzzes beside me on the end table. When I see Easton’s name, my stomach flips.
Easton: I’m heading to Chicago for a few days. I’ll be back to close on the new house, then Abi and I will be official Jackson Harbor residents.
I blame my visceral reaction on old habits. I’ve spent so much of my life loving him and having to wait for his attention that my brain is programmed to pump out adrenaline when I finally get it—but then I see it’s a group text sent out not just to me but also to my brothers.
That definitely makes more sense. After the way we parted on campus yesterday, he probably isn’t interested in having any one-on-one conversations with me. I’m a little surprised I’m included at all.
A pang of nostalgia sweeps through me as I remember his first couple of seasons in the NFL and all the group texts that blew up my phone after every game. Why’d we stop those?
Ethan: Lilly is so excited to meet Abi.
Easton: You have no idea how grateful I am for that. Abi is nervous about the move.
Carter: Hurry back. Need someone who can push me at the gym!
Levi: Fuck you too, Carter. I creamed your ass on that triplet this morning.
Jake: Let the old man be delusional, Levi. Today he believes he can keep up with a pro athlete, but the day we decide to run a 5K, all the excuses come out.
Brayden: Accurate.
Ethan: Y’all know you can stay relatively fit without killing yourselves competing with each other, right? Been doing it for years.
Carter: Really, Ethan? Do you even lift, bro?
Ethan: Oh, fuck off. I could out-bench you all every day of the week.
Levi: Every day except the ones ending in Y.
Easton: You have no idea how much I missed this nonsense.
I’m staring at the screen and grinning like an idiot when George brushes his knuckles over my shoulder. “You’re awfully attached to that phone this afternoon.”
Shame washes over me. George isn’t anti-technology, but he doesn’t like when people are glued to their screens, and he’s been known to pull out his old typewriter from time to time to pound out a draft of an article. I’d blame his aversion to technology on his age, but he’s only ten years older than me. The guy’s been forced to use computers since high school.