Total pages in book: 215
Estimated words: 199344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 997(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 199344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 997(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
“No, no, no,” Noah cries, gripping his brother’s limp body against his chest. “Don’t close your eyes, Linc. Fuck. Stay with me. Please, stay with me.”
I crash into Noah’s side, my knees dropping heavily to the ground as I scramble for Lincoln’s hand, squeezing it with everything I have. “It’s going to be alright, Linc,” I promise him as my fingers furiously press the buttons on the phone, calling for help. Only as Noah holds his brother and an unfamiliar voice answers my call, I know he’s already gone.
My chest heaves with shock, devastation racing through my veins as I struggle to catch my breath. Linc can’t be gone. I have to be wrong, but as Noah’s wide, glassy eyes lift to mine, I know it’s true.
Linc is gone.
One minute he was right there, wanting to play football with his big brother, and the next . . . gone.
A heavy sob tears from deep in my chest, and I fall forward, throwing my arms around Linc’s body as if I could protect him from the driver’s prying eyes or the unforgiving asphalt beneath him. I hold on to him, the deepest pain I’ve ever felt filling my veins.
I’m distantly aware of Noah screaming, and the raw agony in his tone is something I don’t ever want to hear again. I gently release Linc’s body and scramble toward Noah, my chest slamming against his. His big arms close around me as I bury my face into his shoulder. My tears instantly stain his shirt, but he doesn’t let me go, not when the police and paramedics show up, not when his mom’s car careens around the corner, not even when my dad tries to pull me away.
He holds on to me, and as the grief eats us both alive, I realize that our lives are never going to be the same.
From here on out, everything changes.
21
Noah
Walking out of Mrs. Thompson’s office, I tick off counseling for another day. It’s my fifth session since being at East View, and so far, I’m surprised that it doesn’t entirely suck. It was supposed to be biweekly, but I find myself knocking on her door a little more frequently.
Mrs. Thompson is patient. She allows me to work through what I’m feeling in my own time and explains how not processing things keeps me from moving forward. And yeah, I suppose she’s right.
My first session was fucked up. I was angry, but what’s new? I’m always fucking angry. Only, today, I’ve just been broken, and I know it has everything to do with the conversation I had with Zoey last night. Finding out about her leukemia as a child and learning how fucking oblivious I was has put a lot of things into perspective.
Zoey has already been through so much, and all I’ve done is add to her pain.
I’m sure that I probably broke some kind of trust with Zoey by sharing, but the second I sat down in Mrs. Thompson’s office, I told her all about it, and yet, she didn’t seem surprised. I was left wondering just how much of Zoey’s past the school knows about. Though I suppose that’s not exactly any of my business. I’ve lost the right to know those things about her, and that’s on me, it doesn’t change the fact that I feel like a piece of shit for not knowing all this time.
The only thing I didn’t share with the school counselor was that kiss. It felt too private, like it was just ours, and I don’t exactly feel like sharing that with the whole world. Besides, while it was incredible and everything I knew it would be, news like that would spread like wildfire around here, and I can’t see people like Shannan Holter taking it well. She’s already making Zoey’s life a living hell due to my actions, and this would only make that worse.
Making my way through the student office, I find it just a little easier to breathe. It’s the same weightless feeling I have when Zoey is in my arms, and I know it has everything to do with Mrs. Thompson forcing me to talk about Linc. She doesn’t ask me about his death, how it happened, or what the days following were like, but she asks me about his life. What kind of music he listened to, what sports he was into, and what fond memories I have that I’m willing to share. And honestly, it felt fucking amazing to talk about him like that, to not have to focus on the worst moment of my life.
I’m finally starting to move forward, and I don’t feel like breaking every second of the day, and it has everything to do with this place, with Zoey.
“Mr. Ryan,” I hear my voice called from across the student office.