Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 147021 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 735(@200wpm)___ 588(@250wpm)___ 490(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147021 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 735(@200wpm)___ 588(@250wpm)___ 490(@300wpm)
I cover my mouth with my hand, the tears falling faster now at that dreaded word. The one I’ve always tried to avoid.
I’ve done this to him, made him question himself. All because I wanted Hollis to choose me over him. Because I wanted everything to work out with school and playoffs before I ruined anything. Because I couldn’t be honest with him. “You didn’t fail me, Dad. I was afraid to tell you because I didn’t want to be the one who failed you. I broke your only rule.” I wring my hands, wishing I could step out of the shoes I’m stuck in. “I didn’t want to hurt you, or upset you, and I knew this would happen. I understand that you’re mad, I knew you would be, but how it makes me feel—” I choke on the words, on the fear. “I don’t want you to be disappointed in me and you are.”
The doors slide open on the penthouse floor, and Dad waits, like he expects me to get off the elevator with him. He puts his hand over the sensor. “We need to talk this through.”
“Not tonight, please. Everything is super messed up, and I’m really worried about Hollis.” I’m on the edge of a complete emotional breakdown.
Dad’s face softens a fraction. “Peggy.”
My eyes burn with the threat of more tears. I hate that I can’t get a handle on my emotions. Everything I love is slipping through my fingers and I don’t know how to stop it. “I didn’t mean to fall in love with Hollis, Dad. And I’m so sorry that I did this to you, but right now my heart is in pieces. Please let me have some time to process that and fall apart.”
The elevator alarm starts buzzing obnoxiously.
“I love you, sweetheart. That will never change.” He removes his hand, and the doors slide closed before I have a chance to say it back.
I manage to make it into my apartment before I start bawling again. I pull my phone out of my clutch. I’ve been so wrapped up in my dad and his reaction to what was likely the worst possible way for him to find out about me and Hollis, that I’ve missed more than a hundred messages.
The group chat with the girls has blown up. But there are a few private messages as well.
Hemi
Hollis told me your dad took you home. He didn’t elaborate but the look on his face said it all. I’m so sorry. I hope you’re okay.
And don’t worry about the gala, everything was coming to a close. But if you need anything, just message.
Please provide proof of life at your earliest convenience.
I send her a picture of my feet on my coffee table and move to the next thread.
Rix
I’m on my way home in case you need moral support/ice cream/hugs.
She sent the message about twenty minutes ago, so she should be home anytime. That brings a fresh wave of tears. Thank God for Rix. She’s such a great friend. I move to the last thread, the one that scares me the most.
Hollis
I’m so sorry, Princess. This was the last thing I wanted to happen. Message me when you can talk.
I don’t know what that means, and I’m afraid to find out. Everything is falling apart.
Five minutes later, Rix, Essie, and Tristan walk through the door.
Tristan sighs. “Ah, fuck.”
Rix points a finger at him. “If you utter the words I told you so, Palmella and Fingerella will be your only source of pleasure for the next month.”
He holds up his hands. “I would never drop an I told you so.” His face softens as he turns to me and puts his hand on my shoulder. “I know things are messed up now, and it probably feels impossible.”
Rix sits on the couch beside me and passes me a box of tissues.
I pluck a handful and blot my face, even as the tears keep flowing. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to Hollis since my dad found out what’s going on. He’s just so angry, and he feels so betrayed. It’s such a mess.” I explain what happened, how my dad found us in the alcove and lost it.
“Hollis let your dad take you home?” Tristan asks. I don’t like that he’s wearing the same disappointed expression my dad did.
“He didn’t want to get between me and my dad, and it wasn’t an ideal location for a productive conversation,” I say defensively.
Tristan runs his hand through his hair and shakes his head. “I thought he knew better.”
“What do you mean?”
“He should have manned the fuck up and really fought for you. I screwed that up before, too, though. So there’s hope yet,” Tristan offers, somewhat helpfully.
But Tristan’s words press a wound he doesn’t realize has never fully healed.