Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
“Just say it,” Nate says, his voice low and threatening.
I swallow and meet his eyes. “He grabbed me around the back of my neck and held me still while he forced his tongue down my throat.” Nate’s fingers clench down into my flesh and I don’t doubt it’ll leave a bruise, but to be honest, he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. “I… I shoved against his chest to get him off me and that’s when Brooke walked in. He made it look like I was coming onto him, and of course, Brooke believed him.”
Nate sits up, putting us face to face. His eyes roam over me, searching for any signs of injury. “Are you ok?” he murmurs, pushing hair back behind my ear. I nod my head, even though the torturous mental image is ingrained inside my head. “I’m going to fucking kill him.”
“Don’t,” I say, latching onto his arms to keep him rooted to the couch as I search his eyes. “Don’t go. At least, not now. I don’t want you to leave.”
He lets out a sigh and I watch as he visibly allows the rage to leave his body. He relaxes down on the couch, pulling me back down with him. “I should have been here,” he says. “The whole point of me moving in was to stop that dickhead from touching you.”
“I thought it was so you could be with me.”
His chuckle vibrates up through his chest. “You know it was,” he tells me softly, going back to running his hands down the length of my back.
I let out a shaky breath as the last of the tears finally disappear. I nuzzle my face into his wet shirt, needing more from him. Nate tightens his hold around me and I sigh in satisfaction. “Tell me something to get my mind off it.”
“I got a call from Jess,” he says with a knowing smile.
“Shit,” I groan. “Tell me something else.”
“I think you hurt his feelings.”
“I know,” I sigh. “I just had a shitty day with a headache and having to deal with transferring classes and rearranging my schedule. Then to top it all off, my History professor was an asshole. I just needed to come home to a quiet house, and I know he meant well by having everyone over, but he just picked the wrong day to do it.”
“Nah, I get it,” he says. “This is your home and it wasn’t how you needed it when you got here, but you know how Jesse is…”
“I know,” I tell him, finding his hand and sliding my fingers between his. “I’ll make it up to him.”
Nate smiles and although he likes to tease his brother and give him shit, he also loves him fiercely and hates that he’s hurting. He probably hates it even more that I was the one who caused that pain, but I promise myself that I will do anything and everything I can to make it right. Just not now. After a good sleep and a few more painkillers for this damn headache.
“You know,” Nate says, giving my hand a squeeze. “You can’t keep up with all this work. You’re going to kill yourself.”
“It’s fine. I’m managing.”
“You’re not, babe,” he tells me. “You’re staying up past midnight every night with your head stuck in textbooks, you’re skipping meals, you’re cracking the shits with all your friends. Where does it end? You can’t keep this up.”
“I can,” I argue, hating where he’s going with this.
“You can’t, you’re wearing yourself down and forgetting to live,” he says smoothly. “You need to cut back. You have the next few years to do all this. Why don’t you pick a few classes that you’re enjoying and put off the rest? You can pick them up again when your workload isn’t quite so crazy.”
I shake my head. “I can’t.”
“Why not?” he questions. “No one is going to think you’re weak. Hell, no one even has to know.”
“It’s not that,” I tell him. “I just… I want to be the best. What kind of lawyer am I going to make if I can’t manage a few extra classes?”
“You’re going to make an incredible one because you’re going to be able to focus properly on each class you take, rather than rushing through your studying.” I let out a sigh and drop my eyes away from him.
Nate squeezes my hand again. “Will you at least think about it?” he asks quietly. “I’d hate myself if something happened to you because you were overworking yourself.”
How could I possibly say no to him? “Ok,” I murmur, closing my eyes and relaxing into his chest, the one place I know I can always find peace.
“Ok, you’ll cut back? Or, ok, you’ll think about it?”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Alright,” he says. “I guess that’s a win in my book.”