Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 103109 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103109 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
“But what about you?” I ask. “How’s college? What’s your life like?”
She reaches for her wine and swirls it in her glass. She’s old enough to drink in France, but she’s only had a few sips. “I’m not like you, East. I’m just an average girl with an average life.”
“That couldn’t be further from the truth. You’re so damn smart and talented. Everything you do is interesting, and I hate that he made you question it even for a minute.”
“I’m not questioning it right now,” she says, peeking up at me through her lashes. “What about you? I thought you were dating that pop star.”
I put down my fork and take a long sip of my wine. “Scarlett,” I say. There’s not enough wine in this bottle to truly prepare me to talk about Scarlett Lashenta. “I was. For a while.”
“And . . .?”
Where do I start? With Scarlett’s constant drinking? With her battle with addiction that I’m pretty sure she doesn’t want to win? With the way everything about her life is dramatic and she prefers it that way? “We split up, but you probably already know that.”
“I try not to read the gossip sites,” she says, but her blush turns her cheeks a vibrant pink and gives her away. “Though sometimes it’s hard to resist.”
I laugh. “I meant that I thought you’d have figured that out, because I wouldn’t have kissed you otherwise.”
Her cheeks blaze a darker shade of pink. “Oh. Right.”
I huff out a breath. “This is totally unfair, you know. You can log on to Perez Hilton every time you want an update on my life, but how am I supposed to know what’s going on with you? You don’t even post on Facebook.”
“I mean, phones still work, last I checked? And it’s not like we haven’t talked at all since you moved away.”
“Sometimes I wonder about you and want to know what you’re up to without interfering with your life.” My smile falls away. “I was serious when I told you I didn’t want you changing your plans for me. I couldn’t let you switch to UCLA when you’d never mentioned the school before. You’re living your dreams.”
“I wouldn’t have actually . . .” She blows out a breath and studies me. The silence seems to pulse between us. “Maybe I would have, and maybe it’s good that you didn’t let me.”
But how tempting was it? I could picture her at UCLA, taking classes and visiting me at the Demons’ training facility, coming home to me at night. But how many opportunities was she going to miss? And what about all the days I traveled with the team? I didn’t have any right to fuck with her life like that. Her brothers would’ve hated me for it. I would’ve hated myself. “How’s your family?”
She nudges her food around on her plate again. “Dad’s sick.”
“Shit.” I sit back. It’s hard to imagine Frank Jackson sick. He’s nothing but a pillar of strength and stability in my mind. “Like, the flu or what?”
She shakes her head. “Like, sick sick. He . . .” She draws in a ragged breath, as if she needs to fortify herself, and I know what’s coming. “Cancer.”
That news is a punch in the gut. Frank Jackson was such an important part of my childhood. He was like a father to me. He was the example of a father that my own dad never bothered to stick around and be. “Is it bad?” I know it’s a ridiculous question. If it weren’t bad, she wouldn’t look like the weight of the news was crushing her. I’m just not sure how else to ask it.
“He’s fighting it.” The words sound sticky, as if she has to shove them out around tears she’s too stubborn to shed. “But some days, I’m not sure he’s going to win.”
“I’m so sorry, Shay. I know how close your family is. This must be really hard.”
“I’m surprised Carter didn’t tell you.”
“Well . . .” I shrug. The truth is that I haven’t done a very good job keeping up with Carter. He’d probably be hurt if he knew I texted Shay more than him. That or he’d kick my ass. “It’s hard to stay in touch when we don’t see each other anymore.”
She cocks her head to the side. “But you kept in contact with me.”
Because I can’t seem to let you go. “Maybe I should try harder.”
The statement sounds as weighed down by guilt as I feel, but she waves it away. “Nah, he’s busy too. He joined the Jackson Harbor Fire Department last fall and is loving life.”
I laugh. “I can see Carter playing the hero.”
“He loves it. Mom, however, hates it. She’s proud of him, of course, but she . . . frets.”
“I’m sure.” I grin, thinking of Mrs. Jackson. “She still sends me care packages at Christmas with homemade cookies.” My smile falls away as I remember last Christmas, when Scarlett threw the whole box away and accused me of trying to make her fat to keep her. I was so pissed and told her I’d had no intention of sharing the damn things.