Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83394 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83394 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
She was right. Christ, she was so fucking right, and all it did was make me feel like even more of a disaster. Gage had been through so much more, yet he had it together more than I did.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Gage
Warmth.
Soft skin.
Heartbeat against my palm.
Familiar breathing…in…out…in…out…
Love.
Home.
Jojo.
I smiled, feeling content, happy, like the stars had aligned and this thing that was written into stone thousands of years ago had finally happened.
Then he was gone, and I was alone. Frantically, I jumped up, patted the bed, searched my surroundings, but I wasn’t in Jojo’s room the way I was supposed to be. There was nothing but this vast, empty space, empty as I’d felt inside for so long.
“Joey?” I called out, and then heard him, whimpering.
“Gage? Where are you? I can’t find you, Gage.”
My heart tried to burst out of my chest, my head swam, and I ran…where, I didn’t know. I just kept going toward his voice in this dark room that went on for eternity. “Jojo!”
“Gage? Help me! I need you.”
I couldn’t fuck this up, couldn’t let him down. I stumbled. Fell. My knees and hands rubbed raw, but I shoved to my feet and kept going. I ran until I couldn’t breathe, until my muscles burned and ached and I couldn’t stay on my feet.
“Gage?”
“Jojo?” He was close, so close… I found a way to stand, to pull it together for him, for us.
Then there was a light, one light that shined down, and Jojo was there—young Jojo, curled up on the floor, glowing under the spotlight, his father looming over him.
There was a bat in my hand. I didn’t question how it got there, just tightened my hold. Swung at his father, but when I hit, it wasn’t him anymore. It was Jojo whose skull the bat crushed, Jojo who fell to the ground. Jojo who bled.
Jojo who died.
Jojo who I’d killed.
I was on my feet and holding my chest before I realized what had happened. I was home, in the casita I rented from Darrel. My eyes could see that clearly, but I couldn’t slow my breathing. My chest hurt, sharp pains stabbing into me over and over and over. I stumbled toward the nightstand, certain I was having a heart attack.
Dream. Just a dream. You’re fine. He’s fine.
Another flash of it ran across my brain, then another. It kept playing, the sound of the bat hitting Jojo, him hitting the ground, the way he looked up at me, knowing I’d killed him when I was supposed to love him.
My eyes were stinging. My face was wet. I was crying. Jesus fucking Christ, why was I crying? Joey was alive, I knew he was, but the panic wouldn’t relent. It held me tighter and tighter until I was fumbling with the phone and dialing his number.
12:02. Two minutes after midnight on his birthday. I usually made it until the night of before I lost my shit.
“Gage? What’s wrong?”
I couldn’t speak. Why the fuck couldn’t I speak? I just kept breathing and crying, the kind of sobs I knew he heard, that weren’t silent streams of tears.
“You’re scaring the shit out of me.” Joey’s voice was so much deeper, frantic. There was a ruffling sound on the line as if he was moving around.
“I’m sorry. I thought I killed you. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” I couldn’t make the words stop, like a record skipping and playing the same fragment on a loop.
“Hey, breathe. It’s okay. You didn’t kill me. I’m here. I’m on my way.”
I felt so weak, like the slightest breeze could shatter me. He shouldn’t have to come, shouldn’t have to fix me, to heal me. I’d always been the one who went to him, who supported him, but in that, in going to Joey and being who he needed, I’d always mended something inside myself too. It had always been something I’d needed, loving Joey, being there for him, but then, in that moment, God, I didn’t want to be alone. I wanted him to be there for me. “I’m sorry. I need you. I thought I killed you.”
“Don’t be sorry. I’m coming, okay? I’ll always come for you.”
He was in the car now. I could hear it running. “Don’t hang up.”
“I won’t.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop saying that.”
“Do you know where I live?”
“Yeah, I know Darrel’s place.”
We were silent as he drove. I lay on my side on the bed, watching the door, listening for the sound of wheels on gravel, trying not to lose my shit.
Beams of light danced across the dark walls, and it was…pretty. So pretty. I should have stayed awake that night. If I had, I would have seen the lights, would have known when his father came home. “The casita’s out back.”
“I’m coming.”
“I’m sorry.”
The door opened then, and he was there, Joey…my Jojo, who came for me despite everything that happened. Who told me he would always come for me.