Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 97369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
For a moment, I study Archer. Does he really not know Indiana’s story?
“Adopt is a generous word,” I say. “But yes, he purchased a girl. She’s eighteen. Her name is Indiana. And she hates Fletcher because he lost what was left of his humanity after Ruthie died.”
“How do you know she hates him? Are you two close?”
“Someone had to take care of her after Ruthie died.”
He smirks. “That’s … sweet. You make sure you take care of her like I took care of you.”
I slowly shake my head.
“Hey!” He slams his palm against the glass, and the guard gives him a warning, but he ignores the guard, eyeing me without blinking. “I. Took. Care. Of. You. Don’t you ever forget that. Fletcher took care of you. Make our sacrifices count. Do you fucking hear me?”
I grit my teeth to hold my shit together as Archer’s eyes turn red and gloss over with unshed emotion.
Swallowing hard, I return a slow nod.
“Time’s up, Odell,” the guard says.
Time’s up …
It’s been years since I’ve seen him, but there’s comfort in knowing that someone exists in your life, even if you don’t see them. I find comfort in knowing that Indiana will go on to live a great life. There’s no comfort in knowing you can’t see someone even if you want to see them. Unless I choose to watch Archer die, this is our forever goodbye.
Slowly, I lift my hand and press it to the glass against his. Life isn’t fair. I have more days than Archer has to think about anything. To make good and bad decisions. To ride a horse. Swim in a pond. And fuck a woman. Any woman. I need to remember this.
“I’d do it all again because I love you, Milo.” Archer hangs up the phone while using the heel of his other hand to erase his tears before the guards see him.
I fucking choke on the words. They jam in my throat, a train wreck of regret and unchangeable circumstances. As they open the door to take him away, my hand balls into a fist against the glass, and I bang on it several times.
“Hands off the glass,” the guard behind me warns just as Archer glances over his shoulder.
Hands in cuffs.
Ankles shackled.
I swallow repeatedly until I find enough composure to mouth the words. “Thank you.” I think he needs those two words more than a million “I love you’s.”
A tiny smile touches his lips while he returns a single nod.
17
NEVER A BRIDESMAID
INDIE
Indie: Why do you never answer your phone?
Milo: I’m rarely alone
Indie: Even at night? In bed?
Milo: No. Hearing your voice at night would be torture
I grin, staring at the calendar on my computer. My spring break plans got canceled, so I’ll be going home in one month, but Milo thinks I’ll be in Palm Beach.
Indie: Still marrying Jolene? Lie to me
Milo: Jolene who?
I giggle.
Indie: I’m thinking of spending the summer in Canada working at a resort with a friend of mine.
Milo: Canada is good. It’s still in North America but a solid distance from Fletcher.
My grin dies. I know what he means, but I hate that he’s so desperate for me to be far away from Fletcher because that means I’m far away from him too.
I fiddle with the ring he sent me for Christmas. It’s a white gold stacking band with encased crushed turquoise. It was his mother’s. I wear it on my left ring finger because … fuck Jolene.
It made the silly belt buckle I sent him seem impersonal.
Indie: I have to study. Call me.
Milo: Good night, Indie girl
Indigo …
Over the next month, Milo and I text. Just text. He asks me about my spring break trip. I lie to him.
When I pull into the drive on the Friday before spring break week, I see him out in the pasture on Ranger along with Fletcher on his horse Zeus in a cloud of dust around the herd of cattle.
My sexy cowboy …
I step out of the car and inhale the unsterilized air, a welcome break from the halls and desks doused in disinfectant. Neither man glances in my direction, so I head into the house with my bag.
“Oh, hi. Mr. Ellington said you’d be in California for spring break,” Micah says when I poke my head into the kitchen after depositing my bag by the stairs.
Ugh … I could die. I don’t have to see it to know that he has pies in the oven. The kitchen’s filled with the sweet and sour blend of strawberries and rhubarb. I can already taste the zingy tartness.
“Yeah. I was supposed to go with some friends, but one had to cancel, then another, then …” I shrug. “Well, eventually, it was just one other girl and me, so I suggested we cancel the trip. I didn’t tell Mr. Ellington because I wanted to surprise …”