Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 162003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 810(@200wpm)___ 648(@250wpm)___ 540(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 810(@200wpm)___ 648(@250wpm)___ 540(@300wpm)
Feeling awkward and uncomfortable, I shot the man a pleading glance to let me go. His fingers fell away from my face with an obvious satisfaction as he swung his gaze to my brother.
Tension thickened the air as Brayden crossed his arms over his broad chest, his eyes flicking between me and the stranger. He played the role of an over-protective brother often, but this… this was something else.
Hatred flared in his eyes, and a smug grin appeared on the stranger’s face in response. I looked between the two men, trying to understand what wasn’t being said. The breeze kicked up, and the windows on the trailer rattled beneath the weight of it.
“Brighton, go back inside the house,” Brayden ordered.
I glared at him and crossed my arms in stubborn refusal. “What’s going on? He said he was your friend.”
Brayden looked at the man again and scrubbed a hand through his hair in obvious frustration. “He is.” He spoke through gritted teeth. “But you don’t need to be hanging around with him like this.”
This was Brayden’s generic excuse whenever it came to a guy I liked, but this time there was something more to it than that. Before I could ask, the man beside me straightened. He dipped his head and pressed his lips to my ear, unable to hide the smile in his voice when he spoke.
“Don’t worry, Brighton. We’ll meet again soon. Perhaps I could teach you how to play the game?”
I didn’t even have time to respond before he spun on his heel, the gravel crunching beneath his shoes as he walked away. My hands ached as I watched him go, and even the weight of Brayden’s disapproving gaze couldn’t alter that.
The saddest part was he never even told me his name.
Chapter One
-Five Years Later-
“God, this cannot seriously be happening.”
I stared at the letter through bleary eyes. This was it. The pièce de résistance. I wouldn’t be able to recover from this.
“Hey, Brighton!” Nicole called out as her fancy pink sneakers came into view.
I swiped at the tears trailing down my cheeks and shoved the letter into my bag. Looking up at her with what I hoped was a smile, I saw her frown.
“What’s wrong?” she cocked her head to the side and scrutinized me with her bright green eyes.
I waved it off and leaned against the tree, plucking a piece of grass to twirl between my fingers. “It’s nothing.”
I didn’t know Nicole well enough to be spilling this kind of drama. Not yet anyway.
She was the first person I met in San Francisco when I moved here, and oddly enough it was in this very spot. We both walked the same path in Golden Gate Park every morning, and after bumping into her every day for a couple of weeks, she decided to say hello. We bonded over our mutual Midwestern accents right away, and after that, we started walking together.
“Why don’t we skip the walk this time.” She sat down beside me in the grass. “I bought us some breakfast anyway.”
She dug around inside of her oversize hobo bag, pulling out random objects until she found what she was looking for. A pink bakery box that she handled like it was made of glass.
As she set to work on it with her dainty fingers, she flashed a smile that lit up her entire face.
I imagined Nicole as one of those perky cheerleader types back in high school. She had a perfect figure accented by her Lululemon clothing and long blonde hair that had every man in the park turning their head. She never seemed to notice.
I felt like the poor man’s version. My hair was strawberry blonde, or as I liked to call it, the devil’s mark. It was an unfortunate inheritance from my mother’s Irish roots, which only made me resent it more. I’d also inherited her porcelain skin and hazel eyes. They often changed colors to reflect my mood, but today they were a cloudy hue of gray.
“Here you go.” Nicole wiggled a fluffy pink cupcake in front of me.
“Breakfast?” I laughed.
She handed it off with a flourish and licked the residual frosting from her thumb. “When isn’t a good time for cupcakes? And I promise you, these are the best.”
I twirled the pastel confection in my hand, enjoying the scent of vanilla that wafted into the air. It almost looked too good to eat.
“Thank you, Nicole.”
“No problem,” she said. “Now, I have a question for you.”
“Okay?”
Her face grew serious, and she set her cupcake down before giving me her full concentration. “Would you say you consider me a friend?”
“Of course.” I gave her a weak smile, already knowing where she was going with this.
“Well, friends talk to each other, don’t they?”
“Yes.” I sighed. “But this feels a little too personal. I don’t want to dump my problems on you after only knowing you for a couple of weeks.”