Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 38804 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 194(@200wpm)___ 155(@250wpm)___ 129(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38804 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 194(@200wpm)___ 155(@250wpm)___ 129(@300wpm)
She blinked at me, a surprised look on her face. “I—uh—yeah. No problem.”
She began to climb into the back of Cris’ truck, but I said, “I’ll go back there.” When Lauren looked like she was going to protest, I added, “I want to check again. Just in case.”
As she stood back, letting me climb in first and then to the back, Cris said, “You weren’t back there last night. Like, at all.”
“I wasn’t?”
He shook his head as Lauren got in, shutting her door.
My head fell all the way back against the seat. “Well, shit then.”
He studied me again as he started the truck and pulled onto the street after I gave him Troy’s address. “You worked up about going to this guy’s place, or is it something else?”
I looked out the window, hugging myself, and only lifted up a shoulder in response.
I was worked up about so many things.
Hooking up with Cris again, remembering how it felt to come apart under his touch, and knowing it’d be hard to get that out of my system again.
Or that I couldn’t remember the last conversation I had with Mackenzie, or what it was even about.
Or that when we got to Troy’s, there was a possibility Jude would be there, and what would that interaction look like? With me showing up with Cris?
The thing I was worried about the least was that I didn’t know where my phone was. That struck me as funny for some reason, and my mouth twitched as I tried to hold in my laughter.
Then I couldn’t, and once one laugh escaped, another joined it, and a third, and a fourth. Soon I couldn’t stop laughing because in all realness, my life was so messed up and I was only now starting to play catch-up.
I was aware of Cris and Lauren’s attention on me, but I thought about talking to Mac, reconnecting with her again, and the inevitable question would come up. What happened to us? What happened to me? And I’d have to tell her, because it was Mac and she was the bestest kind of friend there was, and when I told her—my laughter dwindled—then I’d have to tell Cris too.
The laughter died.
I stopped thinking instead.
7
MACKENZIE
Kellie Rispins was insane. I’d learned that from my online search.
“Babe?”
I stiffened, before remembering that Ryan texted earlier, asking how I was. I’d only told him I was in the library, and it was now in the afternoon. I couldn’t make myself leave for my second class of the day.
I looked over, seeing him coming toward me with a frown.
More than a handful of people were checking him out.
Macquire Univeristy was a big college. Lots of students, but Ryan was Ryan Jensen and well, he was treated like a celebrity. He’d gotten that treatment already in high school, and it hadn’t changed. It got more and because of that, we didn’t spend a lot of time out and about on campus. Me being in the library and still being here was probably was not the norm. He came over, sitting down in the chair beside me. A computer was in front of him, but he ignored it. “You were here all day?” He reached over, smoothed a hand down my back as I leaned forward.
I nodded. “I need to tell you something.”
His frown deepened, but he was looking me over, heavy concern on his face. “Did you eat?”
I’d been about to tell him about the blogger girl, but asked, “What?”
“Lunch. You didn’t eat anything for breakfast. Did you skip lunch too?” He was still taking me in, his eyes tracking over every inch of me, to my bag, to my things spread out around the computer, and lingering on my coffee cup.
Understanding dawned.
Oh, shit. He was worried about me, like worried worried about me.
I flinched before reaching for his hand, scooting my chair closer to him. I lowered my voice. “Hey.”
His eyes met mine, but he was still searching inside of me, trying to figure out what was going on with me and if it was something deeper he needed to worry about. “Yeah, babe?” His hand cupped the side of my face, holding me in the palm of his hand for a moment.
I closed my eyes, leaning into that hand before I looked back at him. I squeezed his hand. “I’m okay. Okay?”
His eyes clouded. He didn’t answer.
Regret hit me low in my sternum, but it only flared briefly. What I went through, what happened to my sister, I knew I’d get this look from him. And I knew in a way that I’d always get this look from him, but guilt spread through me. This was the struggle with my mental health because when I was good, my loved ones may not be. They may not understand the page I was on was clear and clean, and they might need some extra time to adjust. But I also felt bad because he wasn’t my father or my brother. I didn’t want him to have that constant look of worrying about me, or reading into anything I did out of the ordinary.