Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
“Thanks,” I say, and when I go for the door again, he moves out of the way.
I walk out just in time to see Dare being led toward the flashing blue and red lights down the street in handcuffs and Eric being shoved into the back of a separate car.
I run up to the one handling Dare. “Excuse me, officer?”
“Yes, ma’am?” he asks, turning to face me, his expression morphing from mildly irritated to concerned when he sees the state of me.
“I’d like to press charges.”
* * *
“STEFAN ADAIR,” AN OFFICER CALLS, and I stand, my body feeling like lead as I make my way to the opening of the holding cell I’ve been in for God knows how long.
“You’re being released.”
“About fucking time,” I grunt. My body hurts. I’m hungover. Weak. Tired. But mostly, I need to see Lo. What the fuck must she think of me now? I was close to bailing. Thought about selling the shop to the most recent prospective buyer. Leaving Lo would be easier than losing her. But then Asher got through to me, reminding me of how he almost threw it all away, and when I saw that asshole Eric with her outside Blackbear, I knew I could never turn it off. This girl is a part of me. The one part of me I love.
I sign paperwork, and then I’m handed my belongings. My phone is dead—no surprise there. I decide to walk the mile and a half home, in the snow, hoping like fuck Lo’s there.
When I walk into my house, Jess is awake on the couch, as if he’s waiting for me.
“You said you wouldn’t hurt her,” he accuses, not bothering to look at me.
“Where is she?”
“She just fell asleep.”
“I need to talk to her,” I say, hoping Jess doesn’t make this an issue, because I’m really not in the mood right now.
“Fucking fix it,” he says, and I don’t waste another second, running up the steps to our room.
Lo is curled up in a ball on top of the blankets at the foot of our bed. Her cheeks are streaked with tears and faint traces of blood, like she tried to wash it off but lacked the energy to do so.
Not even bothering to kick my boots off, I climb in behind her, tugging her into me. I need to feel her warmth right now. To feel her skin against mine.
“Lo,” I say, my voice a hoarse whisper.
She jolts awake, sitting up in bed.
“It’s okay. It’s just me,” I say.
The confusion in her eyes clears, but it’s replaced with sadness. “Are you okay?” She asks, and I nod. “I don’t know how to help you. To be what you need.”
“You are what I need,” I insist, sitting up and swinging my legs over the side of the bed. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
“I don’t even know what you’re sorry for,” she says, exasperated. “Because you don’t tell me anything.”
“Come here, Lo,” I say, laying back and holding out my arms. She hesitates before letting me wrap them around her. “I’m ready to tell you everything.”
Hazel eyes look up at me, tired yet full of hope. I take a fortifying breath, steeling myself for her reaction.
“When I was sixteen years old, I killed my foster brother.”
Lo doesn’t blink. She stays quiet, her face blank, and I slip into the memory of that day.
“Come on, Dare.” Sarah pouted, outstretched arms covered in her puffy, bright yellow winter coat from her place on the frozen lake. “Dance with me.”
“Get off the ice. It’s not safe,” I warned her. This winter wasn’t as cold as it usually was.
“It’s frozen. We do this all the time,” she argued, spinning around as if she were ice-skating. “Ugh, fine,” she huffed when she realized I wasn’t budging. She trudged through the snow to take her place on the bench next to me.
“I just wanted to see you smile for once,” she admitted, tucking her gloved-hand into mine. I gave her hand a slight squeeze, softening my rejection before pulling it away, causing those blue eyes to dull with sadness. She knew I wasn’t one for physical affection.
I knew she had a crush on me. I also knew this thing between us was a bad idea. She was my foster sister. Her parents were the closest thing I had to family. Her brother, Luke, was one of my good friends, too. He was two years older than me. Soccer superstar. Homecoming king. I was just a fucked-up kid who liked to drink and draw, and sometimes, when the opportunity presented itself, I’d get my dick wet. We had nothing in common, but somehow, we got along.
“You should be in class,” I said, and it was so cold I could see my breath. Typical for the time of year.