Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 69772 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69772 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Only me and the sky, and the freeing feeling of falling, were on my mind.
But, like all good things, it came to an end.
It took me all of forty-five minutes to get back to the airport and pack up my parachute.
It took me twenty more minutes to get my butt in my SUV and head home.
Sadly, when I got there, the first person I saw was a gang member sneaking out the side door of my Nonna’s place, and I knew I couldn’t handle that tonight.
Instead of entering the house through the front door, I snuck around to the back, heading to the side door that my Nonna used as her private entrance.
Sneaking in the door, I was unsurprised to find Nonna’s bedroom untouched.
The place had remained a shrine to her.
The book she’d been reading before she died was still face down on her nightstand.
The reading glasses that she’d discarded haphazardly right next to it.
There were all her meds, too.
Hell, even her shoes that she’d worn the day before were still right beside her bed.
I looked away, unwilling to acknowledge the pain that was ever present now that Nonna was gone.
Instead, I used the door that adjoined our two bedrooms by way of a bathroom to enter my own space.
I quickly chose to get changed, stupidly not checking the door to make sure it was locked when I did.
I was lost in thought, looking inside my closet for something comfortable to wear when I heard the intake of breath.
I looked over my shoulder and narrowed my eyes. “Get. Out.”
Costas’s right hand man, Salvator Santini, leered at me.
“Get out!” I screeched, my voice cracking.
I knew that my brother would hear. He had this annoying ability to always hear what was going on in the house and had since I was a small kid.
“Get out!” I heard him snarl from somewhere in the hall.
The door slammed closed, and I was left deflated.
Jesus, why didn’t that man know basic etiquette?
I furiously yanked on a soft t-shirt, one that’d once belonged to Quinn, and his Colleyville High School Football sweatshirt.
I glared at it as I pulled it on, remembering a time when I hadn’t been able to wear it as I stormed out of the house and to my car.
“Please, please, please?” I begged.
“No, baby. I can’t. The coaches would lose their shit,” he said. “They straight up said, do not give these sweatshirts to your girlfriends. They’re part of our uniforms for Fridays.”
He sounded apologetic, that was something, right?
“Fine,” I grumbled.
That was the first time Quinn Carter disappointed me.
The day after I’d asked him if I could wear his sweatshirt, I’d walked out of my freshman Spanish I class and had seen a girl wearing it. I’d felt my entire heart all but seize at the sight.
The girl, Lita James, was in all of Quinn’s senior classes.
I’d hated her ever since.
When I’d confronted Quinn between classes, he’d winced.
His ‘she was cold’ hadn’t been good enough of an answer for me, and I hadn’t spoken to him for days after.
Even worse, he never got that sweatshirt back.
I had, though.
A couple of years later, I’d seen her wearing it out and about with a friend.
I’d reacted badly at seeing her wearing it and demanded she give it to me.
She had, reluctantly, and I’d never spoken to her again.
She’d spread rumors amongst our high school friends, so there was no way that Quinn hadn’t heard about it.
Speaking of Quinn, he called again, and I scoffed.
There was no way I was talking to him now, not after being reminded of him letting Lita wear this sweatshirt when he hadn’t given me the same opportunity. What made it even worse was knowing that I was his girlfriend, and she was just some rando chick who wanted to bang him.
I started driving to the movie theater not far from my house, my thoughts dark.
My phone rang again as I pulled into the parking spot at the theater that was closest to the gas station next door, and I shot a glare at the phone.
I ignored the call and stared at the blinking sign that kept switching between the cash price for diesel, and the card price.
My phone rang a third time, and since I didn’t recognize the number, I answered it.
I shouldn’t have.
“Don’t hang up,” Quinn ordered.
I hung up.
Then I silenced my phone before marking that number in my phonebook as ‘Quinn.’
Nobody would be calling me tonight.
Ande was out of town.
The rest of the Carter clan that called only wanted me to check in so Quinn would know that I was all right.
Well, it was none of his fucking business.
I wouldn’t be telling him that I was a shell of the person I’d once been.
I wouldn’t be telling him that my brother was burying himself in a gang that was probably going to kill him sooner rather than later.