Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 173796 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 869(@200wpm)___ 695(@250wpm)___ 579(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 173796 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 869(@200wpm)___ 695(@250wpm)___ 579(@300wpm)
Just like that, my world fell apart, and I don’t know that it can be put back together.
And that’s just too fucking much.
Squeezing my eyes closed, I replay every moment, from the first smile to the last laugh, and then I do it again.
I must pass out again after that, because the next time they open, it’s later. I don’t know by how much, I never did look at the time, but it must have been at least a couple hours as my vomit is dry in the dirt and the pounding in my head has gone from heavy metal to two-tone punk.
It’s beating up my temples, but it’s bearable now.
Lifting my phone from the seat, I check the missed calls and messages, but when neither my mom’s facility nor my girl’s name is among the dozens in red, I toss it.
Instead of heading home, I dip into what’s left of my financial aid from this past semester, and check into a hotel room, where I stay the next two days, repeating the one before it.
It doesn’t help, the distance or the distraction.
Every time my eyes open, reality rocks me to the core.
That’s the thing about alcohol. It’s a temporary fix, one that leads you more fucked up than before. And believe me, I am fucked up.
My mind, my body.
My future.
I clench my jaw, dropping back against the shower wall, holding my breath as the water rolls over my face.
What future?
I slap the wall, and then bang my forehead against it.
And then I fall to the fucking floor.
A hear the footsteps coming before his face pokes around the corner, and I’m almost humiliated enough to turn away.
Almost, but not quite.
The last thing I want is for the guy I’ve worked hand in hand in with all season, coaching him to be the next leader of my position, to see me with my head hung in a room that reeks of liquor, when the man he knows me to be has never once stood in front of him drunk.
But I’m not even standing.
I’m sitting on the floor of a shitty balcony at an overpriced hotel, my back flat against the wall.
“How did you find me?”
“Only four hotels within a five-minute drive from the hospital, knew I’d spot your truck at one of them.” He’s angry, rightfully so. “You need to come back to the hospital.”
Sighing, I drag myself to my feet, and move toward the edge of the banister. Crossing my arm over the cool metal, I lean forward, looking down at the empty playground. “You think I don’t want to be there? That this isn’t killing me? That I don’t feel like shit for walking out and leaving her there?” I glance at him over my shoulder. “Because I do.”
“Doesn’t seem like it.”
“Did she ask for me?”
“Does she have to for you to know she needs you?”
Fuck.
His words are a sharp insult wrapped in glass, cutting as deep as he intended, because no. She doesn’t. That was part of the beauty of us. Her pain was mine as mine was hers. We never needed words to know the other was hurting… but she doesn’t remember that.
I face forward. “She doesn’t remember me, Mason.”
He says nothing for so long, I half expect he’s walked away, but when I turn around, he’s still standing in the same spot.
His lips press into a firm line. “I saw the message she sent you. The one from that night.”
My eyes narrow, small pricks drawing my shoulders up tight. “You read our private conversations?”
“No.” He stands tall, unapologetic. “I didn’t, but I would have if I felt like I needed to. What I did do was take her busted-up phone down to the store, got her a new one and had them flash everything from the old one over. Had to open it up to make sure it worked before they trashed it. Her message to you was the last thing she touched on that phone.”
My chest clenches as I stare at him.
“That’s why you came home that night.” He moves closer. “To come get her. To tell her you love her, too. Right? You love her too?”
Grinding my teeth, I go to push past him. “I’m not having this conversation with you.”
Mason slides in front of me, brows caved. He’s angry, but it’s more than that. The inability to protect the one person he’s spent his life protecting is eating him up.
I know the feeling.
The only two people I have ever had in my life I couldn’t protect.
Mason shakes his head, admitting, “I don’t know why, but in the back of my mind, I told myself my sister cared for you but being with you was her way of doing what she could to be happy while she secretly held on to something else.”
“You mean someone else. There’s no reason not to say his name.” I throw his hand off of me.