Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
I chew slowly. “Oh, that’s kind of weird.”
“Right? Like red wine.”
“How would you know?”
She snickers. “What, you think you’re the first person to offer me alcohol?”
I don’t know why I like it so much when she laughs at me.
Being with her, here, I’ve never been more content. Casey has a way of blotting out everything else around us, and I’m lighter. Free. Happy. It’s never continuous, though, because between those pure moments, a current of dread runs through my head and reminds me that it’s only a matter of time. Before I disappoint her. Become such a toxic influence on her that I corrupt the goodness that makes her special.
Casey doesn’t suffer from the malignant apathy and disenchantment to which the rest of us have succumbed. She isn’t another jaded trust-fund baby whose soul is cold and empty. She’s hopeful and sweet. Kind and generous. All the things that get wrung out of us, she’s somehow managed to retain through terrible ordeals that would have understandably crippled others.
She’s sort of my hero.
And if I weren’t such a selfish bastard, I’d leave her alone before I break her.
“What are you up to tonight?” she asks as she plucks a mini powdered donut out of a little container. “Getting into trouble?”
“The fights are tonight.” I roll my eyes. “RJ wants me to go with him, since he technically has to make an appearance after dethroning Duke.”
“I can’t picture RJ running things. Being the new Duke.”
“That makes two of you.”
My stepbrother never wanted the responsibility or power of being Sandover’s top dog. When he challenged Duke for leadership, he was fighting for his own autonomy against a corrupt system. In other words, he wanted to run his own criminal rackets without handing over a cut to Duke fuckin’ Jessup. What he didn’t realize is the machine keeps turning no matter who’s in the driver’s seat. Whether they like it or not.
Casey leans back on her elbows, giving me a curious look. “Have you ever participated?”
“Fought? Sure. Couple times.”
I can’t read her reaction, but I expect her to be disappointed. It’s one of those things that takes the shine off the penny. Participating in Sandover’s tradition of guys beating the crap out of one another every Saturday night probably isn’t the most attractive trait in a potential boyfriend.
“Was it recreational, or…?”
“You mean was I doing it for fun? No.”
Plenty of guys do it for shits and giggles. Some do it to prove something. Others because they like it. That’s not me.
“Maybe it’s a failure of character, but both times I’ve gone in there, it’s because I had something to solve. A score to settle or whatever. Squash a beef.”
I don’t take any kind of pleasure out of violence. Just on some occasions, physical conflict is efficient. Everyone knows the rules and they work. Mostly.
“I’m not judging. But I definitely can’t imagine you in a fight,” she says, chewing on her lip as if she’s trying hard to conjure the vision in her head. “Not with that angel face.” She wipes a teasing finger of powdered sugar on my cheek.
I’ve heard it my whole life. Fennelly Bishop, the pretty boy. But when I do step toe-to-toe with another guy who has no qualms about beating my face in, I don’t hold anything back. Something is unleashed in me when I taste blood. I get vicious. It’s a bit like blacking out, some deeply repressed part of me taking over. But then that’s also sort of a cop-out, like I’m passing the blame. Maybe I do enjoy beating the shit out of someone every now and then. Maybe we all do.
“Who did you fight?” she asks. “Anyone I know?”
“Only one you’d know is Gabe.”
Her jaw drops. “Isn’t he your best friend?”
I grin. “Not for those ten minutes in the ring.”
Man, that was a brutal fight. Gabe and I have known each other since kindergarten, so obviously we’d gotten into a scuffle or two over the years, but that night was a bloody, bare-knuckle brawl that left both of us beaten to a pulp. I can’t even say who won. Can’t remember why we were even fighting that night.
Ah, right. I fucked a chick he had his eye on. Broke the bro code. I had it coming when he called me out at the fights.
“Have you still not spoken to him at all since he got sent away?” Casey asks quietly.
“Nope.” Unhappiness ripples through me, along with a clench of guilt. “I still don’t even know where they sent him. Gabe’s parents are ridiculously strict, so I guess it makes sense they chose the one military school that’s impossible to get any information on.”
“Yeah, Lucas is always saying how impossible his parents are. It drives him crazy.”
I inwardly bristle at the mention of Lucas, which is a stupid reaction because Casey is allowed to have friends. Hell, these days, with everyone at Ballard still whispering about her, and now the girls at St. Vincent’s, I want her to have as many friends as possible.