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)
And I put her there.
I spent all this time trying to convince her that I’d be good for her and make her life better. What a goddamn joke.
It’s hours before I can leave the jobsite to see Gen. Throughout the day I agonized over whether to call her, but eventually decided having this conversation over the phone was more insulting than waiting to do it in person. Or maybe I’m a coward who hoped the delay would help me figure out what to say to her.
As I’m pulling up to her house, I’m still at a loss.
Gen’s little brother Craig answers the door. With a knowing look that says good luck, he nods upstairs.
“She’s in her room.”
I knock a couple times, then let myself in when there’s no answer. Gen’s asleep on her bed in pajamas and a bathrobe, hair still wet. The largest part of me wants to leave. Let her sleep. The longer I can put this off, the more time I have to come up with something sufficient to say. But then she opens her eyes to find me standing in the doorway.
“Sorry,” she says drowsily, gathering herself to sit up against her headboard. “I didn’t get much sleep in the clink.”
“I can go. Come back later.”
“No. Stay.” She draws her knees up to make room for me. “I take it the whole town knows by now?”
She doesn’t look so bad, all things considered. A bit groggy and pale from exhaustion, but otherwise unscathed. It doesn’t help the lump of guilt stuck in my throat, though.
“You okay? He try anything with you?” Because throwing a Molotov cocktail through Randall’s bedroom window might go a long way to improving my mood.
She shakes her head. “It was fine. Not much worse than the DMV, honestly.”
“That’s what you’ve got? A night in the slammer and you’re doing ’90s sitcom humor?”
A weak smile curves her lips. It breaks my fucking heart. “I’m thinking about touring the prison circuit with some new material.”
“Have you heard from Trina?”
“Nope.” Gen shrugs. “I wish her well. If she’s smart, she’s well into Mexico by now.”
When I open my mouth to speak again, she cuts me off.
“Can we not talk about it? Later, fine. Right now, I don’t want to think about it anymore. It’s been a long day.”
“Yeah, of course.”
Taking my hand, she pulls me to sit beside her against the headboard. “Hey, I never said this, but the house looks great. You guys did a stellar job on the renovations. I’m almost sad it’s over.”
“I am gonna miss you wandering around the house in skimpy silk nighties, watching me work up a sweat.”
Gen snorts. “You have an active imagination.”
“Oh, were you not there for that? Must have been some other leggy brunette with nice tits.”
Her elbow jabs my ribs. “I meant now that it’s over, Dad’s going to put the house on the market. This won’t be my room for much longer. And the place is so nice now, it’s a shame to leave.”
“A lot of good memories in this room.” Climbing in her window after everyone’s gone to bed. Sneaking her out of it.
“Kellan and Shane tried smoking some old pot they found hidden under the floorboards in Shane’s closet.” This time when she laughs, it reaches her eyes. The sound is comforting and debilitating all at once. “They were throwing up for hours. Shane swore he was going blind.”
I want to laugh with her and reminisce about all the stuff we got away with in this house. Every time we held our breath under the covers having sex while her entire family slept a few feet away. Constantly in fear for my life that one of her brothers would barge in and break my dick off if he found me on top of her.
But all I can think about is that if circumstances were different, she might’ve been facing serious jail time because of me.
Only now does it occur to me that some of those memories—running from cops or whoever we pissed off that night, stumbling in drunk at fifteen, getting high and blowing off class—aren’t as cute as they seemed in high school.
“Dad wants me to look at houses with him. With Mom gone, he’s feeling a little overwhelmed with the decisions.”
The words barely reach my ears. A thought spiral drops like a heavy blanket on top of me, my mind weighted with all the ways I haven’t conceived of yet that I’ll ruin this girl. She was happy when she came back. Maybe not right away, thanks to the funeral and everything. But when I compare the person who showed up at that first bonfire to the person sitting next to me now? She looks burnt out. Dried up. A couple months around me and I’ve already sucked the life out of her.