Total pages in book: 196
Estimated words: 186555 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 933(@200wpm)___ 746(@250wpm)___ 622(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 186555 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 933(@200wpm)___ 746(@250wpm)___ 622(@300wpm)
“Are we back on the same page?”
I sniffled and nodded again.
“Did you finish dinner? Can you come home?” he asked, his palm moving up and down my spine.
Home. He kept saying it, and my soul gobbled it up. I pulled back a little and nodded up at him. “I can come. Let me just—”
I turned around to see Clara and Jackie at the door, looking at us. Clara held my purse out with a sweet smile on her face.
Rhodes helped me up, his hand touching my lower back briefly before I made my way toward the front door, where Jackie handed me my jacket and Clara gave me my purse and keys. Her eyes were shiny, and I felt so bad.
But she started to shake her head the second I opened my mouth. “I’ve had something special like this before. Go home. Trust me. We’ll have a sleepover another day. That out there matters more. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I hugged her tight, having a small figment of an idea of how she had to feel saying those words. Of losing someone you loved very, very much. But she was right.
I should go home.
Smiling at Jackie, I backed up and turned around to find Rhodes standing in the same spot. I didn’t imagine the faint, pained smile that took over his mouth as he looked at me.
The second I was close, his hand slid over my hair. Just as smoothly, it moved over my face, swiping under my eye as he frowned. “I don’t like to see you cry.” The pad of his thumb moved again, over my eyebrow before sliding back over my head once more and curving down my back. “I would ride with you, but Am—”
“Only has his permit, I know.”
That finger of his swept over my eyebrow again. “I’ll follow you home,” he told me in a grave voice.
Home. There was that word again.
I shivered, and he held out my brand-new jacket and let me slide one arm and then the other through the sleeves before he zipped it up for me. I smiled at him when he finished. He leaned in and brushed his lips over mine. Pulling back, he met my eyes again and then did it again, pressing his lips just a little heavier against mine. Then he stepped away, his face about as open and unguarded as I’d ever seen it.
Amos was waiting next to my car when we got over, and I hesitated a second before taking my keys out of my pocket and holding them up. “Do you want to drive?”
“For real?”
“As long as you promise not to run through any stop signs.”
His smile was small, but he took the keys, and we got inside. Neither one of us said much as he pulled out of the driveway and his dad pulled over to let us go around and go first. It wasn’t until we were on the highway that he said, “Dad loves you.”
I unclenched my fingers from around my purse and looked at him. Rhodes had said it so fast, I hadn’t absorbed the fact he had said exactly that. “You think so?” I asked anyway.
“Know so.”
I saw him let go of the wheel with one hand. “Two hands, Am.”
He put it back. “He’s not good with words. You know? His mom used to hit him and do other stuff, say mean stuff, and I’ve never even seen Grandpa Randall hug him. I know he loves me… he just… doesn’t say it a lot. Like, ever. Not like my dad, Billy. But Dad Billy told me a long time ago that, even if he doesn’t say it a lot, he shows it doing other stuff.” Amos glanced at me. “So you know. It’s like he’s learning now. How to say it.”
“I understand,” I told him seriously.
Amos glanced at me again before staring forward, hard. “I want you to know, so you don’t think he doesn’t.”
He was trying to console me, or prepare me, or even tie me to his dad even tighter. Maybe all three. And I couldn’t say I didn’t love it because I did.
“I get it,” I said. “And I won’t forget, I promise. I don’t think I need to hear it all the time anyway. You can show people they matter better by what you do than by what you say, I think at least.”
The teenager nodded but kept his attention forward. Things still felt just a little off, like we were both unsure, like this frustration was still so new, we wanted to get over it but neither one of us knew how to kick it off.
But it was him that brought it up. “I don’t care you can’t write anymore, you know.” He was totally serious. “But… you’ll still help me with my songs?”
Pressure built up in my chest. “I kind of have to,” I told him. “We’ve done this much. I might as well stick around and see what you can do with more time.”