Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
“You’re thinking pretty hard over there,” Luke says as he passes a Toyota.
“It’s all good. I’m well-fed. The sun is out.”
“You’re feeling the warm glow of sexual satisfaction,” he says and then snickers. “But all vacations end, Hayworth. The minute we pull into town, you’ll have to pull a poker face when everyone asks where you’ve been.”
“So what if I do? I just wanted to spend some time with you. And I’m going to keep on doing that. It’s nobody’s business but ours.”
“Yeah, okay.” He clears his throat. “Sounds good to me.”
I chuckle, because the discomfort in his voice is so hard to miss.
“Go ahead and laugh,” he says. “But I am trying.”
“I know you are.” I reach over the console and squeeze his hand.
He squeezes mine back.
It’s all fun and games until we get back to town. There’s no parking on College Street as we approach the Alpha Delt house. “Sometimes I find a spot over on Elm,” I suggest.
He’s coasting down the street at maybe fifteen miles an hour. But even if Luke were driving faster, there’d be no way we’d miss all our housemates in the front yard, or the cop car double parked out front with its lights on.
“Holy shit,” Luke says. “What do you think happened?”
“I have no idea. There’s no ambulance, at least. Pull up behind the cops.”
He does. And I open the door and step out.
“Hayworth!” Judd calls. He comes walking toward me. “Have you seen Bailey?”
Instinct makes me turn to look at the car. Luke is already standing, his gaze taking everything in.
“Why?” I croak. Because I sure have seen Bailey. All weekend. Everyone is staring at us now.
Did I fuck this up already?
Two cops come walking toward us. “One of you Luke Bailey?”
“I am,” Luke says, his voice wary. “Why?”
“Step away from the car.”
Luke closes my car door and tosses me the keys. His face is already white.
“Whose vehicle is this?”
“Mine,” I say immediately.
But they aren’t even glancing in my direction. “Luke Bailey, please put your hands on the hood of the car. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right—”
“What is this about?” Luke growls.
“Hands on the car!”
His hands land on the hood immediately.
“You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand the rights I have just read to you?”
“Yes,” Luke says. “But…”
The next sound I hear is the click of handcuffs on my boyfriend’s wrists.
“Holy shit,” Judd says. “They’re throwing Bailey in the pokey.”
I Can’t Breathe
Luke
I’m in the back of a cop car, and I can’t breathe.
Keaton just watched the cops handcuff me. My entire fraternity just watched them push me into the car. There’s a fucking cage between me and the guy in the front seat. I don’t even know where they’re taking me.
All I know is I have never been afraid like I am right now.
My breath is coming too fast, in rapid puffs. But I still can’t get enough air. Like I’m drowning back here. “Can you... open the window?” I gasp. “I can’t breathe.”
“You’re breathing just fine,” says the cop in the passenger seat.
“No I…” Alarm races through me. “I feel dizzy.”
“You’re just hyperventilating,” says the driver. “Breathe through your nose.”
Hyperventilating? I thought that was a joke for TV sitcoms. I clamp my lips together and breathe through my nose. But it feels horrible. Like I’m suffocating. And my arms are trapped behind me, awkward and useless.
What the hell is happening?
Forty minutes later, my breathing is back to normal. But everything else is still chaos. The police take my wallet out of my pocket and use my ID to enter me into their systems. “What’s the charge?” I ask.
“Burglary.”
“What? Of what?”
“Where’s your school ID?” one of the cops asks.
“On a lanyard... In my room?” I guess. “It’s not a law that I have to carry it.” My bravado is thin. “I didn’t steal anything. Why am I here?”
They don’t answer. And then I’m walked through the humiliating procedure of being fingerprinted. At least the handcuffs are off.
They take a mug shot. I stand in front of that thing that shows your height. And I turn to the side when they ask me to.
I want to die the whole time.
“Why am I even here?” I keep asking. But nobody will explain. My mind whirls through the possibilities. There aren’t many.
This has to do with Joe. I’m sure of it, even if I can’t guess how.
Finally someone shows me into an interview room. It’s barely larger than a closet.
“Now will you tell me why I’m here?” I ask.
“You’re going to do the telling, and I’m going to do the asking,” the cop says. He has a salt-and-pepper flat top and no neck.