Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Maybe she does now.
The nagging voice in my head pokes a hole in my conviction. What if pretty dresses and sit-down dinners are her thing now? Is it so far-fetched? Maybe the girl I knew last year isn’t the same one who—
I banish the thought. Because, no. Just no. I know Genevieve West like the back of my hand. I know what excites her. I know what makes her smile, and I know what brings tears to her eyes. I know her every mood, and I know the deepest fucking parts of her soul. Maybe she’s got herself fooled, but not me.
As my head turns itself over, I strip off my shirt, toss it aside, and start hitting the heavy bag hanging from the ceiling in the corner of the garage. Dust explodes off the surface with every strike of my fists. Great billowing plumes of fine gray powder. The first few hits shock my nerves, slap the noise from my mind. The sharp, shooting pain radiates through my hands, then my arms, elbows, and shoulders, until the pain dulls and I barely feel it anymore. But I still feel her. Everywhere. All the time and growing more insistent.
She left me. Me, who’d slept all night in a chair by her hospital bed that time she got a concussion after falling off a tree during a climbing race with two of her brothers. Me, who’d let her cry in my arms every time her mom missed an important event in Gen’s life.
She just left without telling me.
No. Worse—without asking me to come with her.
“You’re not going to have any skin left if you don’t tape those up.” Cooper sneaks up on me. He positions himself behind the bag to hold it in place while I mostly ignore him to concentrate on my aim. Small clusters of blood have already appeared on the synthetic leather. I don’t care.
When I don’t respond, he presses on.
“Come on. What’s going on? Something happen?”
“If you’re going to talk, you can leave.” I punch through the bag. Past it. Driving my fists harder with every swing. The distraction dissipates with every repetition, and as my nerves become desensitized to the impact, my brain finds the effects wearing off too.
“So it’s about Gen.” There’s a sigh of equal parts disapproval and disappointment, as if I came home with a D on my report card. It’s exhausting having a brother who thinks he’s my dad. “When are you going to let that go? She ghosted you, dude. What more is there to say?”
“Remember how much you appreciated my input on Mac last year?” I remind him. Because I learned my lesson. When I was all up in his business about crossing over to the dark side to catch feelings for a rich chick, he told me no small number of times to get bent. And he was right. “Well, same.”
“I’m just trying to look out for you,” he says, like somehow I’ve missed the point. Then, sensing I’m quickly losing my tolerance for him, Cooper changes tacks. “Come on, let’s get out of here. Go out. Take your mind off everything.”
“Pass.” What I figured out a long time ago is there’s nothing that bleaches thoughts of Genevieve out of my head. She’s woven into the fabric. I can’t rip her out without tearing myself apart.
I catch Cooper’s eyes for a second between hits to the bag. There’s unhappiness in them. But it isn’t up to me to make him feel better, and I don’t take responsibility for trying. “You can go now, Coop.”
With a clenched jaw, he stalks out of the garage.
Not long after he’s gone, I give up on the bag. My knuckles are bloody; bits of flesh hang off in kernels. It’s gross as fuck.
When my phone buzzes in my pocket, I entertain a moment of dim-witted anticipation expecting it to be Gen, then curse to myself when I see it’s my mother.
Shelley: Hey baby. Just checking in to see how you’re doing.
Yep, my mother is not in my contacts list under MOM, but Shelley. Which speaks volumes.
She’s been messaging me in an attempt to resurrect our relationship after Cooper briefly had her arrested for stealing several grand from him a few months back. He’s had it with her shit for a long time, but that was the last insult for him. The final betrayal.
I haven’t told Cooper about the texts yet, because as far as he’s concerned, she’s dead to him. Admitting I’ve been in contact would have him downright furious.
Not that I’m so forgiving either. Not anymore, at least. For years, I was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt, even when I knew she couldn’t be trusted. That every visit was simply a precursor to another broken promise and another exit without a goodbye. I just don’t know how to ignore her.