Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 123058 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 615(@200wpm)___ 492(@250wpm)___ 410(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123058 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 615(@200wpm)___ 492(@250wpm)___ 410(@300wpm)
“Spooked?” I repeat with sarcasm and toss my bottle into my bag.
“Yeah. Like you encountered a floating ghost librarian whose face turned into a skeleton right before she tried to jump you.”
Snickering, I shake my head. “Ghostbusters really did a number on you.”
“Hey.” Whip points his bottle at me. “You’d piss your pants if that happened to you.”
“Did you piss your pants when watching that scene?”
Rolling his eyes, Whip finishes his water. “Stop prevaricating. What’s up?” He’s serious now, frowning with worry.
We’ve always given each other shit. No one is immune. But after Jax tried to take his own life, things changed. We still give each other shit, but we also make very fucking certain no one is truly hurting. Since I know exactly how awful it feels to worry about one of my boys without knowing how to help, I can’t evade Whip now.
But I can’t tell him the truth either. Brenna will kill me. As in actual murder.
I angle away from Jax and Killian. Neither of them has noticed us talking yet—they’re still discussing Christmas—but the fewer people asking me questions, the safer I am.
“I’m not spooked exactly.” I shrug, scratching the back of my neck. “I just… Shit, I don’t know. It’s like my life was going one direction, and there I was cruising along, content, you know?”
He nods but keeps silent.
“And then the thought occurred to me: What if I got off this highway? What if I headed down another road? Even if that road is so curvy, I have no idea where I’ll end up.” With a self-deprecating laugh, I try again. “Shit, I’m babbling nonsense. Maybe I’m just in a rut.”
I’ve just opened myself wide—shown far more than I’m comfortable with. But this is Whip. Out of all the guys, he’s my closest friend. Maybe it’s because we provide the rhythm and beats in the band and often collaborate. Or maybe it’s because, while Killian and Jax are front and center, taking the lion’s share of the spotlight—and all the crap that comes with it—Whip and I are less scrutinized.
We’re still famous. Fans will go apeshit if they spot us. But we simply don’t experience the same level of frenzy that Killian and Jax do. There’s a certain freedom in that. Whip and I have always been able to fade into the background and do our own thing. As a result, we hang out a lot more.
He runs a hand through his black hair, and it stands up in all directions. “We’ve all changed. Why try to fight it?”
For a tight second, I want to tell him about Brenna. The urge is so great, I can feel the words pushing against my tongue. I swallow them down. Threat of death notwithstanding, it would be a violation of Bren’s privacy.
“I’m not fighting it. It’s more it finally occurred to me there are things I can’t control. Things that affect my peace of mind. And that sucks.”
Whip’s eyes narrow again. Cold horror bolts down my spine. He knows this is about Brenna. I know this because we can both read each other like a billboard. It’s all there on his smug yet slightly pitying face. My fist clenches, and I give him a quelling look.
That he ignores.
“Man…”
“Don’t say it,” I cut in.
“I don’t know what set you off this time,” he goes on as if I haven’t spoken.
“Nothing set me off.”
He rolls his eyes, but his expression remains troubled. “She’s a lost cause. You know that, right?”
His words are a punch in the throat. They spike along my skin with itchy heat and lodge in my chest like a hot, writhing ball. I want to punch back, take him and his truth down a peg. Which isn’t like me. Well, anymore. In my youth, I was a hot-headed asshat.
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I know.”
No use denying or trying to evade anything else. Whip will see right through that bullshit. He eyes me with trepidation, obviously understanding that he’s rubbed me raw.
My temper snaps. “Stop looking at me like that. I’m not mooning or whatever the fuck you think. You have no idea what you’re talking about this time.”
“So tell me.”
“Tell you what?” Killian says, suddenly at Whip’s side. The guy must walk on cat feet or something. Whip and I both visibly jolt.
“Rye is not mooning over Brenna,” Whip says solemnly.
He is no longer my best friend.
“Right.” Killian nods, playing along. “He never does.”
“Fuck you both.” I say it without much heat. Getting mad never helps diffuse their nosiness.
Jax ambles over and slings an arm around my neck. “Hey, now, we all know Rye can be an asshole about non-Brenna topics too. The list is endless.” He attempts to put me in a headlock, from which I easily break free.
“Funny.” Inside, I’m grateful. Months ago, Jax tried to grill me about Brenna, and I asked him to back off.