Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100628 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100628 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
At club events, I tried to keep as much distance between us as possible, but it was excruciating. He brought women with him, so many women. A different woman every time—and I had to be polite. I introduced myself when they eventually ended up in the same little group that I was in. I smiled. I laughed. I made conversation. Never actually looking directly at Rumi. I couldn’t. Not if I want to keep my emotions in check.
And while I figured out a life without my best friend, Pop continued to lash out.
He threw a lamp. Screamed at Nana. Shoved Bird. Locked me out of the house. Threw dinner, complete with the plate and silverware in the trash because he didn’t like it. Told Nana she was getting fat. Called me an idiot. Screamed at me for putting a dent in my own car—I hadn’t. Someone had hit me in the parking lot at work and took off without saying anything.
He screamed, and he yelled.
But, it was only sometimes.
There were so many days when everything was calm and happy and just how it was supposed to be. We watched movies as a family. Pop took Bird fishing—which had worried me but had gone fine. He took Nana out for their anniversary. Bought Bird a new fancy BMX bike to take to the skate park. We grilled outside and built fires in the cool evenings and he kissed the top of my head whenever I was in reach.
I held on tightly to those good moments, reciting and remembering them when things suddenly went bad again with no warning. When Bird came to the pancake house on his bike, sweaty and upset because Pop was raging and Nana was at work—I looked at that new BMX that Pop had been so proud to buy his grandson. When Pop shoved past me and almost knocked me off my feet, I thought about the million times he’d kissed the top of my head. When he screamed at Nana, I couldn’t help but picture them on the couch, Pop’s head in Nana’s lap while she undid his braid and ran her arthritic fingers through his long hair until he started snoring.
My emotions were all over the place, but still, I told myself that things would get better.
Meg came home on summer vacation and wanted to hang out, but I was too nervous to leave Bird and Nana home without me more than I already had to—so I blew her off.
Olive called at least once a week, more relentless than her sister, asking me to hang out. She accepted every refusal, but she never stopped asking.
Brody came into the pancake house every week, usually by himself, watching me as I worked, but not saying much.
And all through it, I avoided asking about Rumi or contacting him. I just put my head down and worked and spent time with my family. In my spare time, I secretly looked for apartments that I could afford—but I knew moving out was impossible. Nana would never let me take Bird and there was no way I’d ever leave him behind. Not now.
I felt like I was walking a tightrope—that all of us were—and then suddenly, without warning, it snapped.
Chapter 17
Rumi
I was at another club barbecue, the first since I’d been officially patched in—it was about damn time—and even with the new member patch on my cut, I felt fucking naked.
I knew it was probably immature and maybe a little shitty, but I’d been bringing dates to every single get-together that I knew Nova would be at. None of them were important to me, and every single one knew the score. They just wanted to say they’d gone to a real Aces party—even a tame one—which worked out perfectly because I wasn’t interested in anything but using them as a buffer.
And Jesus, did I need that buffer.
I’d been watching Nova since the last time we’d spoken, and something wasn’t right. Half the time she looked like shit, but it was weird because on those days, the ones where she had dark circles under her eyes and her body was perpetually tense, those were the days that she acted the most outgoing. When she showed up looking good, she was quiet, almost standoffish, even to our little group.
I knew that she probably hated me. Hell, she hadn’t even looked directly at me in months, but I couldn’t stop looking at her. Every time we were in the same place, I wanted to throw her over my shoulder and bring her somewhere we could be alone so I could fix whatever the hell had kept her away for so long.
I missed her so much that it kept me up at night. A few times, I’d even picked up my phone and written out a text asking her why the fuck we weren’t talking—but I always deleted them before I hit send. She’d made her position clear when I’d called her, losing my shit, and she’d blown me off.