Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 85608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
My father could be dying.
He could be dying from his cancer.
And it was my fault.
“Whitley,” Gavin said carefully, reaching for me.
“Don’t.” I broke away and turned to English, who had stood by through all of it, keeping the lobby clear and working her magic. “Will you take me to the hospital?”
“Of course. Let me get the car back.” She got on her phone and began demanding a quick response.
Gavin looked hurt, and I couldn’t deal with any of this. I couldn’t even think about it until I knew that my dad would be all right.
“Whitley,” he said again.
“Don’t,” I repeated. “Please don’t.”
“We have to talk about this.”
“About what?” I asked, suddenly just as angry as my dad had been. “He’s right. He’s right about all of it. We lied to him. We lied to basically everyone from the beginning. Your family. My family. It was all a lie.”
“You don’t believe that.”
“Don’t tell me what I fucking believe,” I growled as those pesky tears came to line my lids again.
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Didn’t you? I’m just supposed to feel exactly how you want me to feel at any given moment?”
“Whit,” he groaned. “Come on. It’s not about this.”
“What is it about?”
“I don’t know,” he snapped and then sighed heavily. “Safia.”
I froze at that word. My head swiveled to him in shock. “What about Safia?”
“You sure it’s not about her being in your apartment last night?” he asked, his voice hard.
I shuddered. “How do you know that?”
He chuckled sardonically and took a step back, shaking his head all the while. “The question is … why didn’t you tell me?”
“It’s complicated.”
“And she didn’t get in your head?”
She had. She had absolutely gotten in my head. But not the way he thought. And right now, I was so furious with everything happening that I couldn’t even see straight.
“If you knew she was there, why didn’t you say anything?”
“I thought you’d tell me yourself.”
I scrubbed my face with my hands. The light makeup I’d put on earlier was now a hot mess. “We’re so fucked up, Gavin. I sent Safia away, but none of that even matters. It started as a lie.” I swallowed. “None of this was ever real anyway.”
He stepped forward. “What if it was real to me?”
“It wasn’t. We wouldn’t be standing here right now if it was.”
“That’s not true.” He reached for me again. “Whit …”
“My dad could be dying right now. He’s in the hospital. And he’s pissed that we lied to him. We did that. If he dies tonight, then it’ll be my fault.” The tears ran freely down my face. “So … nothing else matters. The wedding is off.”
Then, I pushed past him and out of the lobby of the hotel. English hurried on my heels. She knew enough to stay silent after what just happened. I rubbed my eyes again, ignoring the flash of a camera before darting into our awaiting car.
I turned to face the entrance of the hotel through the blackened window and found Gavin rushing out after us. He kicked something on the sidewalk, bellowing his rage as the car pulled away.
“Whit,” English whispered.
I didn’t respond. I buried my head in her lap, curling up on the backseat in the fetal position and sobbing like I was a child. English ran her fingers through my brown hair. The muddy natural color I’d changed it to so that I could marry this man. And then we’d just fucked it all up. Royally fucked it up.
English didn’t say anything until we got to the hospital. “We’re here.”
I sniffed and sat up. “Thank you.”
“Anytime, sis.” She ran her thumbs under my eyes to clean up my mascara. “I’ve got your back.”
She didn’t say that I’d made a huge mistake. She didn’t tell me that Gavin and I would work it out. She just smiled her brilliant smile and followed me inside.
In that moment, she was half publicist and half best friend. Maybe I’d hear all of that later, but for now, she wanted to take care of me. I appreciated it more than she’d ever know.
English announced who we were at the front desk, and we were ushered through the ER to a waiting area, where my mom was sitting in tears.
“Oh, Whitley!” she called, rushing to me.
We hugged tightly.
“What’s going on? What did the doctor say?”
“No one has come to talk to me yet. They’re still trying to get him stable.”
“I’m going to go find someone to talk to.”
“Don’t leave me,” she said with a pointed sniffle. “Your brother is on his way too. He feels terrible.”
“Why? It’s not his fault.” The unspoken it’s mine weighed between us.
“No, he’s the one who told your father. I don’t think he had any idea that your dad would confront you about it or … any of this.”