Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 114223 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114223 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Craig squatted down, squinting at me like I was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever seen. Maybe I was.
“You love my sister?”
“Probably more than I love sex and The Smiths and my Les Paul Gibson guitar combined.” I tried to nod, but that was a mistake. It hurt like a thousand bitches in heat.
“Then what the hell are you doing here sulking like a pussy? Didn’t you Brits write some good-ass, solid love songs back in the day? Get your ass in rehab. Get clean. Find her. Grovel to her. Win her back. And love her.”
“Rehab,” I repeated. The plan had always been to get her first. Who had time to rehab when you were on the edge of love?
“Rehab”—he gave me a curt nod—“That’s my plan anyway. I can’t lose what I have. I just needed to beat the shit out of you, making one last huge mistake before I start doing things right.”
It filled my stomach with something. Maybe it was an internal organ that had exploded there, but perhaps it was hope. Call me optimistic, but I suspected it was the latter.
Craig stood up again. “I’m calling you an ambulance.” His voice was detached.
I shook my head, but even that prompted me to wince. Had he broken my neck? I wouldn’t be able to breathe if he had. I tried to tell myself it was going to be one of the things we’d laugh about in the future. When Indie was pregnant with our kid and we’d be barbecuing in someone’s backyard. ‘Remember the time you almost broke my neck?’ Ha. Ha. Well, shit. I really did need rehab.
“Don’t call an ambulance,” I grunted, finally wiping his saliva from my face. “I deserve at least an hour more of sulking on the floor. But do me a favor and bring me my fags, yeah?”
He walked off and slammed the door behind him.
I started laughing.
Hysterically.
Madly.
Illogically.
The beast had a reason to wake up tomorrow morning. That was, if he’d ever make it to it.
Three days after Alex got back to Los Angeles, I got a visit.
It wasn’t from him. He still didn’t know where I was—with Clara, at her Santa Monica home. It was Jenna, Blake, Lucas, and Hudson.
Jenna had a small baby bump that made my heart burst and ache at the same time. Blake looked like he’d won the lottery when he held her hand in his, barely containing a grin he knew he needed to wipe off—my situation wasn’t as great as his. Lucas looked like Lucas, and Hudson…in short, Hudson looked like the fourth lost Jonas brother who’d had too many discount vouchers to the tanning salon. Clara, who was upstairs in bed, told me I could treat this as my own house, so I did, and made them tea with milk and cookies. We all sat in her living room.
“Nice place,” Jenna said coldly, rubbing her little bump, an addition to her otherwise slender figure. She was wearing a crisp, white suit, blazer and all. Blake grinned at her like she was the sun, and again, I found myself aching to be looked at that way. Alex didn’t really count. He was a full-blown drug addict at this point, so who knew if what he felt for me was genuine.
“Thank you.” I tucked my hands between my thighs. “Why are you here?”
They told me they were there because of the whole Fallon thing. They wanted Craig and me to know she would be tried for her crime. I thanked them—and I meant it—I was seriously relieved to know that Lankford would see justice. At the same time, I didn’t have it in me to actually be happy.
“Also, we’re pregnant,” Blake announced.
I smiled. “I knew.”
“You did?”
“Yup.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Blake’s cheeks pinked. He looked like a child himself in that moment.
“Lies kept the tour running, right?” I took a sip of my tea. “Letters from the Liars. That’s what this tour should have been called.”
“Also, I’m gay.” Lucas tried to lighten up the mood by raising his arm and wiggling his fingers.
“I know that, too.”
“Alex?” Lucas sighed.
I shook my head. “I saw the way you looked at him in Paris. It was the same way I looked at him. Like I would kill for him. I knew you would, too.”
And wasn’t it the ultimate irony? The idea that I would have killed for the man who was connected to my parents’ deaths? I decided not to think about it that way. I’d been given a gift—the rare gift of loving wholly and entirely—and it had been good while it had lasted.
“I’m gay, too.” Hudson mimicked Lucas’ raised hand, and we all burst out laughing. Then Blake asked everyone if we could have a moment, and we walked out to Clara’s patio. We stood in front of the perennial shrubs when he opened his blazer and produced an envelope from an inner pocket.