Total pages in book: 235
Estimated words: 227851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1139(@200wpm)___ 911(@250wpm)___ 760(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 227851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1139(@200wpm)___ 911(@250wpm)___ 760(@300wpm)
Swinging my leg over the bike, I settle in the cushioned seat. “She didn’t let me take her to work,” John says.
I laugh on the inside. Of course she didn’t.
“Jesse,” he goes on, appearing before me.
“Not now.”
“Then when?”
When I feel less likely to explode and destroy everything in my path. “Later.” I reach up to get my helmet on, but John’s hand on the front of my bike stalls me.
“What’s going on?” he asks, concerned.
I stare at him, unable to speak the words. How could she? “I’m fine.”
“Shut the fuck up, Jesse. Tell me before I drag you off this bike and kick it out of you.”
“She was going to have an abortion.”
His massive chest inflates from his shocked inhale.
“Yeah,” I breathe. “I know.”
“And the blood?” he asks, pointing to my fists.
I lift my hand, seeing smears across the knuckles. “Matt’s face.”
“What?”
“He sent me the letter Ava’s doctor sent to his flat confirming her scan appointment and options.”
“Shit.”
“I need to ride.” I push my helmet on and turn the key in the ignition, kicking the stand up and revving the engine as I hit the button on the fob for the gates, ensuring they’re open by the time I get there. Ensuring I don’t need to slow down. Stop. And they are. I fly through them, checking for oncoming traffic, and as soon as I’m on the main road, I open her up, flying through the gears until she’s maxed out, my T-shirt stuck to me, the world whizzing past in a blur, wind rushing past, the noise mingling with the roar of the engine, diluting my thoughts. But not enough. Abortion? How could she? I’m at a loss, so fucking hurt.
Killing yourself isn’t the answer, bro.
Then what is?
Compassion. You think she’d have even considered it if she knew about Rosie?
I slow a little and take a curve wide, seeing the road ahead is clear. I max her out again. It doesn’t matter. She was going to take a life without a second thought for the aftermath. The guilt. The loss.
Is it the same thing?
“I don’t fucking know!” I scream at the road.
Slow down, bro.
“It should have been me, Jake.” My voice cracks, the road becoming blurry. “If it had been me, it would have only been me.” But it wasn’t only me. It was Jake, and that was a catalyst to many more lives being ruined.
Slow down.
Because of me.
Slow down, Jesse!
Jake, Rosie, Rebecca, Carmichael. Nearly Sarah too. All because of me.
Slow the fuck down, now!
I jerk, my fingers pulling at the brakes, and I skid to a stop by the side of the road, diving off my bike, leaving it to fall to the tarmac with a crash. I fumble with the strap under my chin, feeling suffocated, and yank my helmet off, gasping for air, struggling to breathe as I stagger to the verge. I collapse to the grass and fall to my back, looking up to the sky, my chest pumping hard.
Heaven.
Will I ever earn my way into that sacred place?
Will I ever see my loves again?
I don’t want to see your ugly fucking face for a long fucking time, Jesse. Do you hear me?
“Watch your mouth,” I murmur.
Fuck off. You have a job to do there. We’re fine.
“We?”
Uncle Jake’s looking after me, Daddy.
I cough over a sob, rolling onto my side, wanting to curl into a ball of shame and stem the pain. “That’s good,” I whisper. “Tell him thank you. Tell him I love him. And you, baby girl. I love you too.”
Silence.
I wait, listen, holding my breath.
No voices.
I roll onto my back again, looking up at the clouds. “Did you hear me, Rosie?” I roughly wipe my eyes, sniff back my tears, listening, waiting.
“Shit, mate, are you all right?”
I lift my head and come face to face with a young lad in a Manchester United kit. I laugh under my breath, seeing Jake and me in the garden, him in red, me in blue. Fucking hell, our looks were the only similar thing about us.
Come on, you Reds.
I blink, seeing him dribbling the ball toward me, goading me as I widened my stance, holding my hands up, getting ready to save his shot. But the fucker nutmegs me.
Goal!
“Jesus Christ,” I gasp, pushing myself to my feet. “I’m fine.” I notice his little boy racer car on the roadside behind my bike, his hazard lights on.
“I thought you’d come off, mate,” he says, flanking me to my bike, watching me stand it up. “That is one awesome machine.”
I laugh under my breath, getting back on my awesome machine. “What’s your name?”
“Bran.”
“How old are you, Bran?”
“Seventeen.”
Seventeen? Fuck, it feels like yesterday but also like an eternity ago. I look him up and down. He’s just a boy. His whole life ahead of him. “New driver?” I ask.