Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Hope wraps her arms around her middle, visibly shrinking into herself, as Joy very nearly shouts her business to the world.
Yeah, I hate the press. And my grudging respect for Joy is dropping, too, if she’s not able to see how she’s browbeating and hurting her sister right now.
I step in front of Hope, putting myself in the line of fire and taking the full brunt of Joy’s glare. “Is there someplace private we can go?” Everything is quiet and empty, and I wonder where the workers are, but this is too personal a conversation to have in an office hallway, regardless of who is or isn’t around.
She meets me toe to toe with a narrowed gaze for a long second, her sister all but forgotten, before finally twirling on her heel. “This way.”
It feels like I just faced a firing squad and somehow got away hole-free.
Joy leads us to a small conference room, closing the door behind us. “I think I’m entitled to some answers here. I nearly had to set myself on fire yesterday for some relief from the awkwardness of you sprinting for the woods midceremony. If I’d had a lighter, I’d be a flaming tiki torch right about now. And by the way, sis . . . you are not a runner; I don’t care what the Couch to 5K program says. It was like that slo-mo Ace Ventura scene—boots and tutu and all.”
Hope flinches, a frown turning her full lips downward. “I hadn’t really thought about what happened there after I left. I was zoned in, focused on getting away. Sorry.” Her voice goes hard. “And I run; therefore, I am a runner. You don’t have to be good at it for it to count.”
The sisters meet eyes, an entire conversation happening in the silence, and then Joy sighs. “Yesterday was pandemonium, to be honest. Mom and Dad wanted to go after you, but Sheriff Laurier got in Dad’s face. They were this close to throwing hands—which I honestly would have enjoyed watching. People were chattering, coming up with all sorts of theories. Most common one seems to be that you’re pregnant and needed to puke but then got too embarrassed to come back.”
“I’m not pregnant!” Hope’s jaw drops in horror, as if it’s the worst thing in the world that people might think that.
“I know,” Joy answers, rolling her eyes. “But that was better than the folks saying you probably had nervous bubble guts and went to shit in the woods. Besides, I was a little too busy to squash rumors in the moment because Shepherd squared up at Roy, figuring he must’ve done something to scare the snot outta you. And that’s a fight I wouldn’t have stopped.”
There’s a question in the statement—a plea for Hope to share, but mostly a question of if she’s okay.
“He didn’t do anything. He just didn’t . . . I wasn’t . . .” Hope is shrinking again, fidgeting with her shirt and her eyes downcast as she stumbles to find the words she’s looking for.
Joy rolls her hand expectantly, prompting Hope to spit it out. “He didn’t what? You weren’t what?”
Hope blinks, and tears start to trail down her cheeks. I grab a tissue from a side table and hand it over. She smiles sadly as she dabs at her face, but Joy is looking at me like I’m a new puzzle to solve. I don’t like it, and it takes everything I have not to flinch away from it.
“Sis, you gotta give me something here because we’re thinking the actual, literal worst. Did he lay a hand on you? Did he fuck someone else? Did he—”
I’m not sure where else Joy’s imagination was going to take her, because Hope interrupts her. “I have everything planned. I always have. I’ve known exactly what my life would be like since the day I turned sixteen.”
“Yeah, I know. I’ve heard every detail of it, ad nauseum,” Joy agrees, not seeing the issue. She’s not hearing Hope’s voice, which isn’t so much talking to her sister as it is explaining the whole situation to herself. “Roy this, Roy that, we, we, we.”
“Is that it?” Hope whispers. “I mean, can I set an alarm by what my life is going to be like for the next fifty years? No questions, no adventures, no excitement. Just that? Me and Roy, forever?”
“That’s what you’ve always wanted.” Joy plops down on the table’s edge to peer at Hope in confusion. “Are you having a quarter-life crisis or something? We should’ve done the rager bachelorette party. I knew it!” She throws her head back, looking at the ceiling as if there are answers written there. “Gone to Vegas, or watched a live-action Magic Mike show, or something outrageous. But you said no. Guess you got the wild out of your system in another way.” Her gaze rolls past Hope to me, once again implying that something happened between us.