Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 82543 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82543 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
“We’ll fix it,” Peyton says again.
“It’s sun clay, which means it doesn’t need heat to set. It needs two full days to dry, and it’s due Monday morning.”
“Two full days. We have that. We can make it work.”
“It took me ten hours to make the first time.” I’m so dejected and … well, heartbroken. Ironic, really.
Peyton slumps and stares at the mess, but then after a while, he rubs his chin. “What if …” He picks up the larger of the pieces on the hardwood floor and then a smaller piece that has most of the small heart still intact. “It’s all about being emotionally broken. Not being whole. What if we glue most of it back together but leave out parts like the whole thing is crumbling? You said gluing it will make it obvious that it’s broken. Isn’t that the message you want to send anyway?”
I immediately go to write off the idea before really thinking about it. The finished product forms in my mind, and I can see it clearly. “Actually … that’s … actually a brilliant idea.”
Peyton smiles proudly. “I have them sometimes.”
“You’re also a disaster. Every time you’ve been at my house, you’ve made a mess, whether it be in your underwear, my kitchen, or now my art corner. I thought athletes were supposed to be graceful?”
Peyton holds up a finger. “First: making a mess of our underwear is fun. Secondly: I’ll give you the kitchen thing. But third, and most importantly, this was your fault. You were the one holding it. You kissed me. And you were the one who let it go.”
Damn it. “You might make some valid points there.”
“Of course I do. I’m a smart jock, remember?”
“Okay, Mr. Smarty Pants. How about you go make those coffees while I start working on this.” I take the broken pieces from him.
“Wow. Hit me where it really hurts.” He grabs the broken sculpture back. “You make the coffee. I will start on this. I’m sure I can manage gluing things together.”
I pause. “Just don’t glue yourself to … yourself. Or to my furniture.”
“But if I do that, then I will have to permanently live here, and then I will never have to face my dads about the backlash from last night.”
“They’ll work out where I live eventually, and then you won’t be able to escape.”
Peyton’s face falls. “You’re right. Okay, no gluing my body parts. I promise.”
I turn to make my way into the kitchen but pause and turn back. “You’re not going to be in a lot of trouble, right?”
For the first time possibly ever in Peyton Miller’s existence, he looks … doubtful.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
peyton
I’ve put off going home as long as I can without my dads calling the police and filing a missing person’s report. It’s around two o’clock when I make the short walk past campus and head for our house.
Only, when I reach my street, I notice a familiar figure marching up the hill toward home too. “Brady!” I call out.
My brother turns, and I jog to catch up to him.
“Please don’t tell me the dads sent out a search party for me.”
He blinks. “For you? I thought they’d be sending one out for me. My phone died, and—”
That’s when I notice he’s wearing the same clothes as yesterday. I’m wearing Levi’s, which are way too tight on me, but that’s not going to stop me from teasing him about this.
Mercilessly.
“Have a good night?” I waggle my eyebrows. “Who was he? Do I know him? Oh God, it wasn’t one of my teammates, was it?”
Brady’s mouth opens but then closes again. “It was no one. You don’t know him.”
I drop it. Brady is kinda private when it comes to his sex life, and if I’m honest, I’m thankful for that. It’s like he thinks he has to overcompensate for our dads, who do not skimp on the ins and outs of gay sex. You know, for educational and torturing purposes.
I wrap my arm around his shoulders as we walk. “How much trouble do you think I’m in?”
“I dunno. Probably the same amount as I am?”
I stop in my tracks. “You don’t know, do you? You didn’t stay for my whole game?”
“I did, but I had somewhere to be. I saw you throw the winning pass, screamed and cheered, and then ran before the crowds could block me in. Why?” His gaze narrows. “What did you do?”
“Uh … nothing?”
“You may as well tell me because if you don’t, they will.” He points to the house.
“I might have run up into the stands and kissed Levi in front of everyone.”
“You what?”
The door to our house opens, and even though we’re still a few houses away, our dad’s yelling could be heard from space.
“Peyton. Brady. Inside now.”
Pop stands beside him with his arms folded, and then two other people exit the house.