Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 62997 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62997 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
“Leave me alone!”
I throw the truck in neutral and pull on the parking brake, then jump out my side. I catch her from behind as she stumbles over a crack in the sidewalk and lift her feet off the ground. She goes wild in my arms, punching and kicking.
“Hey, it’s okay. Bailey.”
“Shut up, Cole.”
“I’ll shut up. You get in the fucking truck.” I infuse my words with alpha command, even though she’s not a shifter.
On some level, humans relate to it.
It works.
She stops struggling and dashes the back of her hand across her eyes. “Fine.” If I were less disturbed about what just went down, I would celebrate that little victory. Same as I celebrated her showing me her quiz today.
She surrenders to me despite her better judgment.
I stay close behind her in case she decides to bolt again, but she climbs in and slams the door, then stares straight ahead.
I get back in and throw the truck in gear. Now what? I hadn’t thought further than getting to Bailey.
The principal is gone for the day. We could go back and talk to him tomorrow. But this can’t wait.
I ease my foot off the clutch and get on the road.
“You okay?” It’s a dumb question. Of course she’s not okay.
“Peachy,” she snaps.
I rub the back of my neck. She’s definitely not. I scent shame and fear on her.
“Don't feel ashamed.” I say it like a command, not a suggestion. Make my voice firm. “You didn't do anything wrong. You know that, right?"
She’s silent for a moment. “I feel so fucking dirty.” Her voice is full of tears again.
“Yeah, well you’re not. He is.” I shut up after that, though. She doesn’t need to talk to me. She needs a friend.
Still, I’m unwilling to let her out of my sight until we’ve had a conversation.
Plus, Brumgard needs to be thrown out of this town on his ass. I pull up in front of the sheriff’s office and Pink stiffens.
“What are we doing here?”
“We’re going to go in there and tell them what happened and you’re going to press charges.”
She shakes her head; tears start making silent trails down her cheeks again.
Fuck. I knew this wouldn’t be easy.
“Why not?”
She strangles the strap of her backpack with her hand. “I’m not up for this. I just need to think. I want to go home.”
Shit. This isn’t right. Brumgard needs to be stopped. If he tried this with Pink, he’s probably done it before and will do it again.
“You can’t let him get away with this, Bailey. Taking him down is the right thing to do. And it will be so easy. You had a witness. How many girls can say that? It will be an easy conviction.”
She doesn’t say anything, but I scent her resistance and despair like burnt rubber. I don’t like being the cause of that scent.
“You’re not in this alone. I’d be a part of it the whole way through. I’ll tell the story. All you have to do is press charges.”
“I can’t, Cole. I mean I’ll think about it. I know you’re right, but I just can’t face this right now. I’m already the weird girl at school. I can’t take any more negative attention.”
Fuck. That part is my fault.
I curse and put the truck back in gear. Ultimately, it’s her call.
I can’t take her home, though. Instead, I drive around to the back side of the mesa, to a place I like to go when I need to get away. And I figure Pink needs to think right now.
I pull down the dirt road and park in a long-forgotten parking lot overgrown with creosote.
“Where are we?”
“Come on. I’ll show you.” For a moment, I wonder if I’ve made a mistake bringing her here. She just got blindsided by a teacher’s sexual advances, I don’t want her to think I have something nefarious in mind, too. But I don’t scent fear from her.
Still, I don’t breathe until she swings the door open and hops out.
Her face softens as she looks around. “What is this place?”
We duck through a continuous archway formed by at least a dozen out-of-control palo verde trees and emerge in the clearing framed on one side by a fifty foot canyon wall.
“What is this place?” There’s awe in her tone.
The bones of a stone building that once served as a picnic ramada stand off to one side, the roof long since caved in or removed. The giant picnic table is still inside, though, gouged by at least a hundred sets of initials carved in the thick, smooth wood.
I don’t know what I love so much about this place. The archeology of a modern ruin, I guess. The way it’s hidden back in here under the giant cottonwoods and overgrown mesquite and palo verde. The way it’s protected by the secret canyon.