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)
Fenn inhales sharply. “Are you serious? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I didn’t want to. I’m tired of you being the first person I call whenever I need to talk.”
Which is exactly what I did tonight.
I shake my head at myself. Clearly I haven’t learned any lessons.
“Tell me what you remembered,” he urges.
“I offered someone a ride, and they may have been wearing pink. Lucas thinks it could’ve been a girl.”
His breath hitches again. “Fuck. Who could it be, though?” He pauses for a few beats. “I’m trying to think who was wearing pink that night, but it’s all a huge blank. I didn’t pay much attention to what anyone wore except for—what’s her name? Hallie? The chick who showed up in that weird plastic wrap dress where you could see her tits and pussy. Headmaster Fournette made her leave and every dude there cried.”
I snicker before going serious. “I don’t remember what people were wearing either. Anyway. That’s it. Sounds like I willingly got in the car with whoever it was, so that’s something, I guess. I wasn’t coerced as far as I know. But there’s no way I would have willingly taken a Rohypnol cocktail, or whatever the doctors called it.” I’m firm about this point. Nodding as if to punctate it. “Even if I did choose to do drugs that night, I would’ve picked something a lot milder. Gillian and I had been talking about trying molly sometime, so if anything, that’s probably what I would’ve done.”
“Was Gillian at prom?”
“No. The sophomore cheerleaders were at a dance competition in Boston that weekend. I couldn’t go because I bruised my ankle the week before and our coach didn’t want to risk it. So I convinced Sloane to take me to the junior prom.” I make a dejected noise. “I should’ve just gone to Boston and cheered my friends on.”
He wraps his arm around my shoulder to draw me closer. When I hesitate, he mumbles, “Don’t pull away from me. Let me have tonight.”
He laces our fingers together, then brings our joined hands to his lips, brushing a kiss over my knuckles before pressing my hand against his chest. A stinging sensation pricks my closed eyelids. I feel his heart beating fast beneath my fingertips, a reminder that we’re both alive. I’m alive, and largely because of him.
I let out a slow breath. “I’m trying to remember that.”
“Remember what?”
“That I would have drowned if you hadn’t rescued me. If I just keep focusing on that…” I blink and a teardrop slides down my cheek.
“Case?”
“Why did you lie?” I whisper in the darkness.
“I…” He curses under his breath.
“I want to forgive you, Fenn. Please help me do that. Please.”
I’m hit with instant regret over raising my voice because the mistake causes a chain reaction of disastrous events. The dogs finally decide to be useful, mistaking my frustrated cry for one of distress. Loud, incessant barking breaks out through the house, Bo and Penny’s footsteps crashing up the stairs as they barrel toward my room. My door is closed, so the dogs smash into it with a deafening bang that is certain to wake up the entire house.
“Shit,” I hiss, my face paling. “Get up. You need to go.”
He’s two steps ahead of me. Hoodie on, shoes in his hands as he lunges toward the window.
“Casey?” Dad’s muffled voice echoes from the hallway. “Casey!” He’s getting closer. “What’s wrong?”
As Fenn wrenches the window open, it occurs to me I forgot to lock my door after I invited him over. My dad’s hand now rattles the knob.
“Go,” I plead.
Fenn throws his shoes out the window, then starts to heave himself over.
He doesn’t make it in time. The bedroom door flies open, and a second later Dad’s enraged voice blasts from the doorway.
“Bishop! Get your ass back in here!”
Shit.
CHAPTER 34
FENN
“SO, HOW MUCH TROUBLE ARE YOU IN?” LAWSON ASKS OVER BREAKFAST the next morning.
I was surprised to see him up and about before eleven a.m. on a Saturday, until he told me he’d never actually gone to bed. Apparently he’d pulled an all-nighter with some guys from Ballard and the eight-ball of coke I’d deprived him of last weekend. Equally surprising is the fact that he’d sat on a baggie of cocaine for an entire week without indulging.
Beside Lawson, Silas’s head is bent as he shovels eggs into his mouth and texts with his free hand. Always on his phone these days, Mr. Popular. Must be on the hunt for new friends because Sloane wants nothing to do with him. Neither does RJ. Amy. Me. The tally’s adding up for the dude.
RJ skipped breakfast, telling me to bring him back a muffin and coffee. He’s in our room working on some hacking project. Building a script for who knows what reason. I gave up on trying to understand the shit he does in there.