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)
A thought occurs to me. “You don’t think this is because I went to see Casey last night, right?”
“Wait, seriously?” RJ stops walking and shoves me in an alcove. “What’d you do?”
“Nothing. Snuck in her window—”
“Fenn.”
“She let me in,” I protest. “We got in an argument. But then we sort of made out. Anyway, it didn’t go exactly to plan, and she kicked me out.”
“Damn it.” For a second, he looks like he might want to take a swing at me. Instead, he grits his teeth and pokes his head around the corner. “If she told Sloane, or her dad noticed you leaving…” He trails off uneasily. “They could be here to arrest you.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Maybe they need to question me about the boathouse footage and how I got it.”
Shit. For a moment, I do consider bolting. A brief and vivid montage of my life as a fugitive plays less cinematic in my head than it looks in the movies. Then I think about Gabe, completely unaware what’s transpired since he left Sandover. How much I still don’t know about that night.
Why hasn’t he sent a message back to Lucas, damn it? I haven’t been able to find my own way of reaching him yet, which means everything hinges on his response to his brother. I doubt he’d share anything overtly incriminating, but I know Gabe Ciprian like the back of my hand. If Lucas chooses to show me Gabe’s message—and I can’t see him being a dick and not doing that—then I need to pray Gabe included some sort of hint that only I can decipher.
“Come on,” I tell RJ. “If they take me in, you can pawn my watch to bail me out.”
In a strange way, the walk down the wide corridor toward the lobby feels a bit like getting wheeled into the operating room when I got my tonsils out. I was terrified and on the verge of tears, biting my tongue because Mom told me to be strong. I felt grown up that day, facing down my fate.
I think I could do time. Just keep my head down and pay the craziest fucker in the joint to watch my back. Being filthy rich has its perks.
Then we come around the corner and my stomach drops.
“I changed my mind,” I tell RJ. “I’m making a break for it.”
“Coward.”
David and RJ’s mom stand in front of a portrait on the wall, pretending to admire it and looking awkward. Michelle is clad in a ribbed ankle-length sweater dress that hugs her body like a glove. I can’t deny that RJ’s mom is hot. She has glossy dark hair she wears loose around her shoulders, big hazel eyes, and cupid’s bow lips that I once read somewhere is supposedly the mark of, like, supreme beauty or something. I’m sure if Dad married her for a physical feature, though, it was her ass.
“Dude,” RJ warns. “Stop checking out my mom.”
“David, there they are,” Michelle says, tapping him on the shoulder. She waves us over. “Boys, come give us a hug.”
Yeah. Pass. I’m pretty sure the last time I hugged my father was at Mom’s funeral.
RJ dutifully goes to embrace his mom, who she squeezes him tight and says, “Ah, buddy, it’s so good to see you. I missed you so much.”
Dad and I stand there in silence, watching the mother-son reunion. Dad, who had his hands inside the pockets of his wool trousers, pulls one hand out and extends it at me. I stare at it without shaking.
“What are you guys doing here?” I ask.
“We decided to surprise you,” Michelle says with a beaming smile. She releases RJ and takes a step toward me as if she’s going to hug me. Then she sees my expression and falters. “It’s nice to see you again, Fenn.”
“Yeah. You too.” We both know I’m lying. But while I feel fine about being rude to my father, I can’t be an outright dick to Michelle. She didn’t do anything to me.
“Thanksgiving seemed too far away,” she adds, linking her arm through RJ’s. “So, we decided it would be fun to call the pilot and fly out here for the day. Take you boys to lunch. How does that sound?”
“Sure. Great,” RJ says without much enthusiasm.
“Wonderful!” She releases him and claps her hands together. “This makes me happy.”
“All right, then,” Dad says gruffly. “The car’s waiting outside.”
The newlyweds start walking, but I hang back slightly. “Don’t make me do this,” I mumble to RJ beside me.
“If I have to, so do you. Suck it up.”
He shoves me forward and now it’s too late to dash, so I force my feet to carry me to the waiting Lincoln town car Dad hired for the day. I feel like I’m marching toward my execution.
They take us to what passes for a classy joint in the tiny redneck town outside Sandover’s gates. Dad makes an embarrassing fuss about picking the perfect table and asking to see a wine list, like it isn’t barely one in the afternoon.