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 no matter what I do to think my way out of this, I come back to one undeniable conclusion: I did this to her. And if given the chance, I’ll do it again.
“Actually, a couple days ago I drove by a house on Mallard. That blue one with the palms. It’s a newer home. I looked it up on—”
“Gen.” I launch to my feet. “Look, you were right.”
“Huh?”
Agitated now, I pace the room. How do I do this? I don’t want to come off as an asshole, but maybe it’s well too late for that.
“Evan?” Her voice ripples with worry.
“I should have listened to you.”
Fuck, why didn’t I listen? She gave me a dozen opportunities to respect her wishes and keep my distance. I ignored every one of her warnings and went straight off a cliff. Slowly, I turn to face her, all the guilt and regret bubbling up and spilling over. What did she ever do to deserve me?
“I’m sorry, Fred.”
Alarm grows in her expression. “About what?”
“You were right. This can’t work. You and me.”
“Evan.” A wary look of disbelief sucks the color from her face. “This is because of last night? You didn’t put the coke in Trina’s purse. You didn’t sic Randall on me. None of that is your fault.”
“But I talked you into going. That’s on me.” My voice rises of its own volition. It feels like I don’t have control of my own mind. The frustration running away with me. The anger at myself that I let this happen. “I’m no good for you. I’m sorry it took me so long to figure that out.” I swallow. It hurts to do so. “You need to stay the hell away from me.”
“You don’t mean that.” Gen jumps off the bed. “I get that you feel responsible, but it was not your fault.”
“Don’t do that.” I pull myself away when she reaches for my arm. “You’ve been making excuses for me my whole life.”
She rolls her head in frustration, huffing out a breath. “That’s not what I’m doing. I was only nervous about going out with Trina because I didn’t think I could resist getting trashed around her. You had more faith in me, and you were right. I didn’t drink at all last night. She offered me some of her coke, and I didn’t take it. The rest of the night was my choice. I stuck around. I let her leave her purse with me. At any point I could have said no and gone home.” Fight flashes across her face. “You’ve been taking bullets for me my whole life. But I’m all grown up now, Evan. I don’t need a martyr.”
I appreciate what she’s trying to do, but I can’t let her. This is how habits start. She forgives me this time, and the next. And the next. Until inch by inch, she backslides into all the self-destructive patterns she’s worked so hard to break. She always was the best part of us.
I love her. I’d rather never see her again than be the reason she hates herself.
“You should stick it out with your cop,” I tell her, my voice cracking slightly before hardening with resolve. “He’s a decent guy, and he’ll bend over backward to make you happy. Better influence than I’ll ever be.”
“Evan.”
I watch the realization cement in her eyes. Watch as she grasps for some lever to pull to make this stop. Then I turn my back on her.
“Evan!”
I’m out the door and down the stairs. Practically running to my bike. I have to get out of here before I lose my nerve. I know she’s looking at me from her bedroom window when I speed away from the curb. The ache begins before I’ve reached the end of the block. By the time I get home, I can’t feel anything. Not sure I’m even awake.
It’s dark when I take a seat on the back deck later. Clouds block the stars and make the sky feel small and too close. The cricket songs and katydids roar inside my skull. This is shell shock. I’m not fully present in the aftermath.
A cold beer lands in my lap. Beside me, Cooper pulls up a chair.
“You check on Genevieve?” he asks.
I twist open my beer and take a swig. I don’t taste a thing. “Think I broke up with her,” I mumble.
He stares at the side of my face. “You okay?”
“Sure.”
Turns out I could’ve saved everyone all sorts of grief if I’d listened to both of them. Coop doesn’t know his head from his asshole where Gen is concerned, but as much as I hate his second-guessing, he does know me.
“I’m sorry,” he tells me.
“She’s not a bad girl.” People have always given her a hard time for the crime of trying to enjoy her life. Maybe it’s because her lust for it sparked envy, longing. Most people are too afraid to truly experience their lives. They’re passengers or passive observers to a world happening around them. But not Gen.