Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84013 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84013 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
I grab the first thing I see. It’s the remote, lying on the coffee table. I fling it at him, and he moves his head, barely dodging it. “Get out!” I scream at him in a primal fury. There are no more tears, only pure, blinding, white-hot rage. I grab the next thing, a pillow, and wing it. He lets it bounce off his chest. “Get the fuck out!”
He calmly walks to the door, yanks it open, and steps into the hall.
I slam it after him and bash the bolt into its slot.
Chapter 7
Daley
Once he’s gone, I collapse onto the floor with my back to the door and scream until my throat is raw, then cry so hard it feels like I might be sick.
I hate him so much. His words echo through my brain: you didn’t know Megan half as well as you think you did. The terrifying thing is, I wonder if he’s right. I wonder if maybe I didn’t know her and I never did, if maybe what I think happened isn’t what really happened, but I can’t let myself spiral again. If I do, there’s no coming back. I remember days spent lying in bed with my knees pulled to my chest doing nothing but staring at the wall, too tired and drained to cry, too numb to care about anything at all. Weeks spent in filth, trash surrounding my bed, unable to shower, uninterested in taking care of myself. It was hell, pure and simple. A numb, gray hell.
I can’t let him shove me back into that hole.
It takes a half hour to get control of myself. I change into clean clothes, wash my face, grab my keys and wallet, and head out into the night. Rian drifts after me, saying nothing. He heard me crying in there. I know he did. He was standing in the hall, inches from where I sat sobbing harder than I have in a long time. He doesn’t mention it.
I hope the bastard never speaks to me again, but I won’t be that lucky.
The night’s cool and crisp. I hurry down the sidewalk to the deli on the opposite side and get some dinner. They’re closing soon, but the girl behind the counter makes me a quick sandwich, gives me some extra pickles, and tosses in a free bag of chips. I step back outside and look at Rian, practically daring him to ask me for something to eat.
He says nothing. He’s frowning at the street, squinting at the far end of the block, and I follow his gaze.
Parked down near the stop sign is a black SUV. Its engine is running, idling quietly, the headlights off. I think I can make out two men.
“Is that the same one from earlier?” I ask, unable to stop myself. I take a couple of steps toward it, but he grabs my arm. My heart rate doubles as I squint at the hood. Tinted windows, big black wheels, probably a Range Rover. I’d bet anything it’s the same model that nearly ran me over, but my memory’s a bit fuzzy, probably from the adrenaline.
“Come on,” Rian says, tugging me away gently.
I don’t argue. This time, I let him lead. We start moving toward my apartment, and as we get a few steps down the block, lights suddenly flood down toward us from the end of the street. He looks back, frowning deeper.
The SUV pulls out and comes toward us, driving slowly.
Rian speeds up. Walking fast, nearly jogging. I stumble after him, finding it hard to keep up with his long stride. We’re far away from my apartment and on the opposite side of the street. The night’s empty, only a young bald white guy in a bright purple shirt with glasses walking a tiny white fluffy dog. He smiles kindly and says hello, but Rian moves past him, and I don’t have time to answer.
The SUV moves faster, homing in. Rian cuts left toward the stores and yanks me into a doorway. On the left is a closed flower shop, the windows black, and on the right is a dry cleaner. Rian pulls me against him and tucks the pair of us back into the alcove formed between the two entrances, back away from the street as far as we can get, and the SUV slows again when it nears. Rian turns, blocking me with his body, pinning me against the wall. “Don’t move,” he whispers, and his hand touches my chin, tilting it up. “Look at me.”
“What are you doing?”
His eyes burn into mine, and I gaze back, and I remember that party all those years ago, the last party, the last night. Megan was off drifting from group to group, and I was alone with Rian. He was drinking, and I could smell the whisky on his lips: sweet and smoky and alcohol-sharp. We were in the shadows near the stairs as the party raged around us. We were in our own world, in a bubble we built and maintained through mutual desperation. He was close to me, like he is right now, his lips inches from mine. I wanted him closer, wanted to feel his body press against mine, his strong hands on my hips, laced in through my hair. I wanted his mouth to part—like it parts right now—and I wanted him to press his hands on my sides and move them down toward my ass—like his palms move down my flanks to grip me tightly now—and I needed his mouth to come closer, closer, open slightly, tongue wet and inviting and lovely—like right now—