Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 115590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
“Well, it was an omission! What’s the difference?”
That set my skin on fire. I pushed up from the couch and closed the space between us. “A lie of omission, huh? Like you not telling me you got your tits out for old men?”
Oh, that got her. Her nostrils flared, eyes narrowed. “You’re gonna bring that up now?”
“Damn right, I am.” I backed her across the room. “Because, now that I think about it, that wasn’t even a lie by omission. That was a straight-up lie. You said you worked at Cha Chas. So get off your high fucking horse, Monroe.”
“Screw you, Zepp. You know damn well why I didn’t want to tell you that.”
Because she was worried she might lose me. And that’s why I wanted Jerry’s ass beat. Because I was worried I might lose her, just like I did my mother if he took it too far. That girl was literally everything to me. Every-fucking-thing, and I couldn’t imagine my life without her.
“Why did you have to go mess around with Jerry?” There was an edge of hysteria to her tone. “If he finds out you had anything to do with it, you’ll be dead, and—”
“Because I fucking love you. Okay?” I scrubbed a hand over my jaw, panic winding through me at the abrupt confession. “I love you, and I’m terrified of losing you. I hoped Dizzy would kill his ass because you wouldn’t let me do it, and I can’t lose you.”
She stilled. “I love you too,” she whispered, her teary gaze meeting mine. “I’m scared he’s going to get to you. And…I can’t.”
I pulled her into my arms, resting my chin on the top of her head. “He won’t. I promise.”
Her arms came around me, clinging to me like I was a lifeline. Just like she was mine.
* * *
The next night, Monroe talked me into going to the shitty little carnival set up in the parking lot of the Wal-E-Mart. Hendrix invited himself. I paid for the tickets, eyeing the cracked-out-looking jack-off behind the booth.
“These people put together stuff that spins you around in the air.” I nodded toward one of the lit-up rides, twirling and flipping a few stories up. “And you feel like getting on it is a good idea?” I hated carnivals. I hated the smell and the Dayton yokels that came out of the woodworks to get a little rush.
“I mean, they must be safe,” Monroe said, her eyes glowing at the sight of all the rides. “Right?”
“They’re fine.” Hendrix stopped mid-stride, his gaze fixed on the cotton-candy stand—or rather, the blonde dipping the paper cones into the machine. He patted me on the back. “Have fun on your death traps. I’ve got a cooter to catch.” And then he was gone.
“What do you want to ride?” I asked.
“That one.” She pointed, and I glanced behind me at some metal shitshow called “The Roundup.” Music blasted from it, and the motor made a screeching sound as the thing took off, spinning fast enough to give me vertigo just watching it. On a small sigh, I took her hand and maneuvered through the families with screaming kids. “You aren’t going to throw up, are you?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never been on a ride.”
I had. Once. My mother had brought Hendrix and me to one of these traveling carnivals when I was seven. We had three tickets, which meant we could ride three rides. All I wanted to ride was the Ferris wheel, but Hendrix cried and made us go on the merry-go-round. Then my mom picked something fast, and Hendrix threw up on me. So no Ferris wheel. I stepped up to the carney and handed him our tickets.
“Well, if you throw up,” I said. “Turn your head.” I followed her around the metal grate until she found one of the booths she wanted and tucked herself in. I pressed my back against the stall beside her.
Other people filed in, then the worker staggered by, hooking a rinky-dink chain across my hips, then Monroe’s. Her brow wrinkled as she watched him go.
“Zepp, why is there just a chain?”
“Still feel safe?” I snorted.
“I’m gonna throw up and direct it at you.”
The buzzer sounded, and the machine slowly spun in a circle. By the time it was going fast enough to plaster us to the walls, it lifted into the air, and my stomach churned. My grip on the bars tightened while I fought back the urge to toss the hotdogs I had eaten earlier. Monroe screamed beside me. At least she wasn’t going to puke.
We rode just about every ride in that damn park before I managed to drag her to the Ferris wheel. We were next in line when she pulled back on my hand, staring up at the top of it. A breeze picked up, and the metal frame creaked and groaned. “Okay, that one doesn’t look safe.”