Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55839 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55839 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
PROLOGUE
Greer
14 Years Old
“Someone call the Prosecution Podcast. There’s been a fashion crime.”
“Shut up, Dev,” I shout at my older brother. He’s not wrong, though. The pink frilly dress he’s smirking at makes me feel like a cheap Barbie doll. But I’m wearing it to the dance, and I don’t care what anyone thinks. It’s not like anyone pays attention to me anyway.
He holds his hands up. “No need to shout. Just a little shocked that’s what you’re wearing to the dance. You look about four, not fourteen.”
I push my glasses up my nose and glare at him while he leans against my bedroom doorway. “Well, I’m a little shocked you’re even here. Shouldn’t you be at Roman and Ledger’s house?”
Guilt flashes in his brown eyes before he tucks it away. “Where’s Dad?”
“Drinking in his study.” Like any other day.
“Fuck,” he mutters.
You can curse all you want when there are no adults around to care what comes out of your mouth, but I know she would’ve hated it, so I correct him. “Don’t say that.”
He rolls his eyes. “You’re not my mom.”
The perpetual flutter of butterfly wings in my stomach increases like they do every time I hear that word.
“Well, obviously. But just because she’s dead doesn’t mean you can do things she wouldn’t like.”
He blinks, but the guilt doesn’t leave his eyes. I’ve said the unspeakable, brought up the topic we’re supposed to avoid. The tense air in my room feels like a weight on my chest, suffocating me.
“Greer…” he says, but I bolt past him and hustle down the hallway. My pulse drums a rapid beat in my ears as I sprint down the stairs and fly across the foyer. When I fling the door open, I collide with a hard chest.
“Oomph,” flies out into the still night. “What the…”
I look up into the blue eyes of Roman, Dev’s best friend. “Oh. Sorry.”
He glances down at my dress. “Where are you going all dolled up?”
“Nowhere. I was just trying it on for the dance on Friday.”
His brows raise. “You’re going?”
“Yes. I don’t know. Why?”
“Doesn’t seem like your thing.”
“Well, it is now.” I sidestep him as the butterflies swarm within me, their fluttering now fueled for a reason other than anxiety.
Before I can get off the porch, his long legs move him in front of me. “Seriously, where are you going?”
“For a walk.”
“It’s dark.”
“So.” Dad’s too in his booze to care and won’t even notice I’m not in the house.
His mesmerizing gaze dips down to my bare feet. “You can’t walk around without shoes.”
“I’m just going to the garden.” If he doesn’t move, I’m going to cry in front of him. “Please get out of my way.”
Instead of letting me pass, he turns around, giving me the back of his t-shirt and jeans. “Hop on, princess.”
“It’s okay, Roman. Don’t you have to go inside?”
“Nope. Dev wants to talk to your dad before we head back to my house.” He looks over his shoulder at me. “Get on, Greer. Seems like you need me more than he does right now.”
He’s the only one who’s noticed that I’m not okay with my mother’s suicide. “You’re too tall,” I say, trying to hide the tears from him. “And I’m not like the cheerleaders you hang out with at school. I can’t vault into the air like they can.”
He takes two steps down, so he’s on the ground. “There. Let’s go. I have something for you.”
God, the girls at school would die to ride on his back. And so would I. Which is why I say fuck it—forgive me, Mom—and leap off the porch.
He chuckles as I wrap my arms around his neck and cinch my legs around his waist.
“Those cheerleaders have nothing on you, Greer.”
“Yeah, right. They’ve got boobs and I’ve got brains. Yay me.” And then I’m sobbing, because I just said that to the guy I’ve had a crush on for years. But who else can I say it to? I don’t have a mother anymore.
“Ah, shit,” he whispers as he walks us away from the house. “Don’t cry, Greer. You’ll…um…get them soon.”
He stops in the corner of the yard by the oak tree, and I slide down his back onto the soft grass.
“It’s not that,” I say.
He runs a hand through his dark hair, leaving a lock flopped onto his forehead. “What is it then?”
His gaze skims the thin straps holding up the sequin bodice of my dress. “Are you nervous about going to the dance?”
“Yeah, but I’m going anyway. Mom picked this dress out for me and I told her it was awful. This is my last chance to wear it before it doesn’t fit anymore.” I swipe at the tears on my cheeks and finally let out what’s been tearing at my insides. “Maybe if I hadn’t been a brat, she wouldn’t have left us.”