Total pages in book: 213
Estimated words: 201920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1010(@200wpm)___ 808(@250wpm)___ 673(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 201920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1010(@200wpm)___ 808(@250wpm)___ 673(@300wpm)
“Hey, you okay?” Dean asks me and it’s only then I realize I wasn’t breathing. That keeps happening around him.
“I’m just sorry,” I croak out and Dean pulls me into his lap. It’s odd with the wheel behind me but he’s quick to push back his seat and I find myself tearing up. I haven’t cried in years and I’m embarrassed.
“Shhh,” Dean shushes me, and I hate myself. He’s the one who has a right to be angry, to be upset, yet he’s comforting me.
“I’m sorry,” I say again, angrily wiping at my eyes and refusing to cry.
“It’s okay,” he whispers, petting my hair as the air hits my heated face.
“I don’t know why I’m being like this.” I wrap my arms around myself. It doesn’t stop him from pulling me back against his chest and I instantly melt into his warmth.
“It doesn’t matter, I’m here,” he tells me and for the first time, it feels like those words carry weight. Like nothing else matters, as long as he’s here.
I know it’s not true but for a moment, it’s nice to feel like it’s real.
None of this was supposed to happen.
I wasn’t supposed to fall for him.
DEAN
I knew she was breakable.
The moment I saw her, I fucking knew it.
She was hiding something and barely holding herself together, still is.
I could feel it in my bones.
After all this time, I still don’t know what it is that’s going to break her, though.
The door to the hotel room opens slowly with a creak and I have to glance over my shoulder to see if she’s still with me. Her eyes are distant but she’s there. She tucks a strand of her brunette hair behind her ear but it quickly falls back to where it was, and she doesn’t bother with it again.
“Home sweet home,” I say more to get her attention than anything else and push the door open wider. Her smile is weak but it’s an offering I take.
“Thanks,” she says as she walks in, hitching the strap of her duffle bag up her shoulder.
I grit my teeth. Even in this moment, with her little head messed up and something dark slowly consuming her, even now she won’t let me hold her bag.
I walk in behind her, listening to the sound of my heart beating in rhythm with her soft breathing. As the door closes with a loud click, the air conditioner turns on and the curtains stir, making Allie jump.
She reaches up to her collarbone with her hand and then lets out a small laugh.
“You all right, Allie?” I ask her for the third time since we got out of the car. I already know the answer, even as she swallows thickly and lowers herself to the bed, all the while nodding. “Fine.”
“You seem a little shaken,” I tell her. “Something’s bothering you.”
“I’m fine,” she says again with a sharp defiance in her voice.
The corners of my lips kick up. “And I’m the pope.” I turn my back to her, picking up my bag to put it on top of the small dresser and unzip it but leave it there untouched.
“You’re not thinking about running, are you?” I ask her, partly joking, partly serious.
“I’m just sorry, okay?” she says to my back and I turn to look at her, but I don’t say anything.
She clears her throat and the soft lines of her bare neck get my attention as she talks. My eyes travel to the dip in her throat, then back to her lips.
“Sorry for getting all worked up,” she clarifies.
“You can do what you want,” I say while pulling the shirt over my head. It’s hot as fuck in here and as I ball up my shirt I look for the thermostat, finding it on the other side of the room. She talks as I walk past her.
“Sure.” As I dial down the temperature, she flops down on the bed, her legs still over the edge but her back flat on the mattress. “It doesn’t mean I should, though,” she whispers.
“I’m happy you let me in a little,” I say and my chest pangs with pent-up emotion at the admission. Maybe it’s pain, maybe it’s gratitude. It’s hard to tell the difference.
“You don’t look so happy,” she says.
“Is that why you’re all upset?” I ask her, stopping at the edge of the bed and towering over her. Upset’s not quite the right word but I don’t know how to say it. “All because I’m pissed off that my mom is … the same she’s always been.” Again the air clicks on and her shoulders shake slightly from the noise.
“I’m not upset,” she says but the words come out sounding more like a question, her eyes searching mine.
“Ever since we walked in here, you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” I tell her. “Like you’re on edge and waiting for something bad to happen.” I stand my ground and the faint light from the sole window in the room casts a shadow of my form over Allison.