Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
When I found my voice, “Law,” tumbled out. He looked…fuck, he looked good. His face clean-shaven as always, and that cleft in his chin I used to playfully tease him about and stick my finger in. His curls were a little longer. My fingers twitched, remembering how soft they had been when I played with them. “What are you doing here?”
He stood there for a second, staring at me. His jaw was tight, and his eyes hard in a way I’d only ever seen him look at me one other time.
“What am I doing here? I fucking live here. What are you doing here?”
Which was likely a question that made more sense than when I’d asked him. “I, um…bought a house?” I suddenly realized how big a mistake this was. I had no business being in Havenwood, and I sure as shit had no business setting up roots here…if I could ever really have roots anywhere.
“Jesus fucking Christ.” Law ran a hand through his hair the same way he used to do when he got upset. “You bought a house.”
“Yes.”
“In my hometown.”
“Yes…” I replied again, realizing how it sounded.
“On my fucking road?”
Shit. He was the other house on this street? “In my defense, I didn’t know you lived here—in Havenwood or on this road. You said you weren’t coming back.”
He looked at me like I’d sprouted another head. “Everyone says that about their hometown, and they always fucking go back!”
“I didn’t know you had the house at the end of the lane,” was what I settled on. It didn’t explain why I had come here, to his hometown, to buy a house, but it was all I had. The other shit, I didn’t even let myself sort through, so it wasn’t like I could talk to him about it.
I was still in shock that he was standing there, in front of me. I hadn’t seen him in six years, but I still remembered what his touch felt like. The way his skin, strangely, had the soft scent of apples and words. I didn’t know how words smelled, but I knew that was him.
“I can’t fucking believe it’s you,” he said to himself more than me. “You bought my goddamned house, Rem.” He flinched, like he hadn’t expected to use the nickname.
“Your house?” This sure as shit hadn’t been his house.
“Well, it wasn’t mine, but I wanted it, for the land mostly. They wouldn’t sell, but of course you fucking got it somehow. Not that I could have afforded it anyway.”
The last part didn’t make sense. Hell, none of it did, really, but what my thoughts focused on was the fact that he said he couldn’t afford it. Law’s family had money. Law had money.
“So you came here to tell whoever it was that they bought your house?”
He stopped pacing, looked at me. “I came to welcome you to the neighborhood.”
“Which means you came to see who had what you wanted.” That didn’t surprise me. Law had always been used to getting what he wanted. And for some reason, he’d wanted me all those years ago. There had never been a chance of me denying him.
He flipped me off playfully, before his face turned to stone again. For a flash he had turned back into the guy I knew, the one who could always make me laugh or smile and did so often.
“Where’s Brittany?” he asked, his voice sharp as a knife.
“In New York. Listen, Law, I—”
“I can’t do this.” He shook his head and started to turn around. On instinct, I stepped forward, reached out, and wrapped a hand around his forearm. It was solid, muscular, familiar.
“Law…” was all that managed to slip past my lips.
“I can’t fucking do this right now,” he repeated.
I let go of him immediately, and watched Lawson Grant walk away from me again.
Before
I didn’t go to the hotel my manager had booked for me. My plane had just landed, but I knew Law was already in Seattle, waiting for me. I’d booked him a flight that got in a few hours before mine. It had been months since I’d seen him, and my head was going a little crazy without him. Like it was spinning out of control, and the only thing that could slow it was my music. But when I wasn’t playing, it was all him.
Things had been…fuck, they’d been unexpected since I’d let him upload that damn video of me three years before. It had been a whirlwind after that—going viral, getting signed, making an album, getting more success than I ever thought I’d get, in what felt like overnight. Going on tour. The fans. The screams. The women throwing themselves at me, even though I knew it wasn’t me they wanted. The crowds. Missing him. The increasing anxiety. Panic attacks. Feeling overwhelmed all the time.