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)
“Indie …”
“I must go before my roommate drowns in her bucket of ice cream.”
“Indiana—”
She ends the call.
My thumb hovers over the send icon, but I don’t touch it. As hard as that is to do, I toss my phone aside and give her space, then I shower and brush my teeth. I keep moving forward. Routine has always been my greatest comfort. It’s about to become my best friend as well.
Snagging my phone from the sofa on the way to my bed, I find a message on my screen.
Indie: Sorry. It might be that time of the month for me. I’m an asshole. An asshole who loves you. <3
I grin.
Milo: That’s my title, not yours. “Asshole who loves you.” Good night, my beautiful Indie girl <3
19
FREEDOM NEVER FELT SO MISERABLE
INDIE
“Where’s your family sitting?” Lexie Ebert asks while we’re ushered into the frigid auditorium for graduation. It’s a symphony of echoing chatter just before the band plays. “Mine’s over there.” She points.
“I’m not sure. I haven’t spotted them yet.” I squint my eyes like I’m doing just that. It’s embarrassing. I haven’t spotted them because it’s just Grandma Hill and Aunt Faye. Everyone else is at Jolene’s graduation today. Once we’re seated, my head swivels in every direction until I find Grandma and Faye.
They give me a wave, and I force a smile. Ruthie would have been here. I hope she is here in spirit. She would have insisted Fletcher be here too. And he would have been nice because he was an actual human being with Ruthie.
The ceremony lasts to infinity times infinity. Nobody’s supposed to have their cell phones, but everyone does, heads bowed to them. It’s a middle finger to the teachers and administrators who will no longer dictate our lives.
My phone vibrates in my right hand as my row lines up to walk across the stage and receive our diplomas. I lift the sleeve of my gown, which reeks of perfume from so many hugs, to sneak a peek at the screen.
Milo: You look stunning today. And I thought valedictorians were supposed to give speeches. Why didn’t you speak?
I raise my head, spinning in one direction and then the other. There’s no way he’s here. It couldn’t happen. Fletcher wouldn’t allow it. Still, my heart holds enough hope to send it into a frenzy at the slightest possibility. Grandma and Faye give me another smile and wave when I look in their direction, but Milo’s not seated near them.
Because he’s not here, stupid.
“Indiana Ivy Ellington,” my name is called, and I wobble on shaky legs across the stage to accept my diploma with a sweaty hand. I smile until I nearly cry because … I’m FREE.
I’m eighteen.
I have a diploma.
And I can pack my bags and leave the Ellington ranch without looking back.
“Congratulations,” the principal says.
Three steps later, a photographer takes my picture, and I’m ushered back to my seat, where I wait for the rest of the alphabet to be called to the stage.
Indie: Stop playing with my emotions. I know you’re not here.
Milo sends me a picture of me. Me sitting in my chair, sending him that message while the row behind me stands to line up at the stage. It’s impossible to breathe while I scan the crowd in the direction from which the picture was taken. And then … I see him.
“You’re here,” I mouth, wiping a runaway tear from my cheek.
Milo winks and puckers those lips to blow me a kiss.
I don’t know how he’s here, but it doesn’t matter. The most important person in my life just witnessed the most important day of my life thus far.
After a final word and a flurry of hats dancing in the air before tumbling to the ground around us, we march out of the auditorium to the band playing “Pomp and Circumstance.”
I shoulder my way through the tangled mess of hugs and congratulatory high fives to the rear exit. Grandma and Faye are meeting me by the front of the school, but I need to find Milo first.
“Hey, smarty pants, where you going?”
I stop. Grin. And close my eyes for a few seconds to compose myself before I start bawling. Then I turn toward him.
Shit.
My strategy doesn’t work. The tears are uncontainable.
“How are you here?”
He shrugs. “Strategic planning—oof.” He chuckles with a grunt when I throw myself into his arms, hugging him as tightly as I can.
“I love you. I love you. God … I love you so much.”
Love … it’s every possible emotion stuffed into the heart—stretching, wriggling, bubbling until you reach that thin line separating euphoria and complete despair.
I feel both in equal parts. This kind of love can’t exist without the promise of pain.
Milo buries his face into my hair next to my ear and whispers, “My. Whole. World.”
His whispered words excavate a deep hole in my chest … maybe my soul. I’ve never been anyone’s whole world. Ruthie loved me dearly, and I always felt it, but she also loved Fletcher beyond words.