Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 106797 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106797 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
I gulped.
“What about your parents? Did they try looking for her?”
“I don’t have parents, Bug. We were in a home.”
My heart broke. It was all starting to make sense. “I know she disappeared, but how do you know she’s dead? Did they… did they find her?” I felt sick even asking, and I couldn’t bring myself to add body to the end of that question.
“They never found her.” He breathed slowly. “I don’t know for sure that she’s dead, but I have to believe she is.”
“Why?”
He shrugged, and his eyes finally met mine again. There was a pain there that was indescribable, a pain I knew I could never fully understand. “Because it’s better than the alternative.”
I bit my lips against the tears threatening the back of my eyes. I didn’t have the right to cry. “I’m sorry, Rhodes,” I whispered.
“Are you finished with your questions?” he asked, standing. I nodded. Without another word, he packed the helmet I’d worn into his backpack and pulled on his own, mounting the bike and sparking it to life. He peered at me through the lens for a short second before pulling off, leaving a light cloud of smoke as he did.
I stood there motionless, scolding myself for asking questions, for effectively ruining the night. He was the only thing good about mine, and I’d just wrecked his. I sighed, dragging my feet inside and up to my room, head not spinning any less than it had been when I woke up that morning.
Before I let myself go to bed, I stood in a scorching hot shower. I tried to burn the night from my skin — the words Shay spoke to me, the words Mason didn’t say to make it right, the words I wished I could take back that I’d said to Rhodes. I imagined the water washing them from me and pulling them down the drain, along with all the hurt they’d caused.
But when I succumbed to my bed and pulled the covers up high over my head, I still felt them on me.
I didn’t dream about Rhodes that night.
I didn’t sleep at all.
My stomach was in knots as I dressed for my training session the next day. I was nervous about facing Rhodes again after what I’d asked about his sister the night before. Would he be angry? Hurt? Sad? Would he ever want to talk to me again?
It didn’t help that I could hear Mom and Dale arguing down the hall. I swallowed as Dale’s voice rose louder when I packed the last of my gym bag. Zipping it up, I tossed it over my shoulder and hurried out of my room and down the stairs, trying my best not to eavesdrop on what was being said. All I’d picked up was that Dale had been drunk the night before, which wasn’t anything new, and Mom was pissed — again, not anything new. It wasn’t that they fought all the time, but Dale did tend to get into trouble when he drank. I wasn’t sure what it was — if he embarrassed himself or Mom or both — but there always seemed to be a bit of a tiff after he had a night of drinking.
I padded down the hall to the kitchen where I figured their voices would be mostly drowned out, pulling up the meal plan Rhodes developed for me. Meal prepping was still far from my favorite pastime, but I was getting better at it.
“Want some help with that?” Christina asked, wrapping an apron around her waist as she entered the kitchen. I smiled and nodded, and in her soft, almond-shaped eyes, I could see that she heard them fighting, too.
Christina had been cooking for me ever since I could remember. She was from Venezuela and her family had moved to Poxton Beach when she was a teenager, fleeing the dangerous conditions of her home country. She had two little boys — Junior and Luis — and she treated me like the daughter she never had. I always welcomed her advice, but I loved it even more when she knew I didn’t want to talk at all. She and Moses were a lot alike in that respect.
We cut and cooked and prepped for the next thirty minutes, not really talking but not feeling uncomfortable in the silence, either. That was, until it wasn’t silence anymore.
“I don’t care what you call it, Dale. If you don’t get it under control, you’re going to have to say goodbye to the woman who has looked past it for so long!” My mom stormed down the stairs and I stood frozen with two packed Tupper-Ware containers in my hand, waiting to go to the fridge. Christina had already excused herself, leaving me to stare alone.
Mom’s face was tear-stained with streaks of mascara marring her cheeks like scars. When she saw me, she sniffed, shook her head, and laughed. “Men,” she said, wiping her nose with a balled up tissue in her hand. “They are just silly sometimes, aren’t they?”