Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 118125 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 591(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118125 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 591(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Rian smiled faintly.
Walden was too caught up in his rules, he thought, and wondered how the man could live like that, caging himself that way. Rian would break, would run, if he had to keep himself so locked up.
Wasn’t that why he’d ended up here?
Am I really doing anything better than being that spoiled little princeling, now? he thought. Isn’t this just running away from my problems?
What problems do you even have, Rian? the nasty little voice of his self-doubt hissed into his ear; this wasn’t that syrupy loving voice, no, but the two said the same things in different ways. Your biggest problem is that you don’t have any problems...and you don’t know what to do with yourself.
He closed his eyes, pushing that thought away.
That was why he was here, really.
Trying to figure out what to do with himself.
Trying to figure out how to rely on himself, when he’d left behind his trust fund, his—everything, barely kept contact with his parents, lived only on what he worked for.
What do you mean, you’re leaving, dearest? Why? Where will you go? A troubled look that had seen right through him as if he wasn’t even there, just translucent, insubstantial, meaningless. You don’t mean to stay with that man, do you? Which one? Oh, I don’t remember, they all do blend together, but...
Rian, darling boy, what will you even do?
What would he do.
When the real question had been, What can you even do?
Yet he still remembered the day he’d gotten his first paycheck.
He hadn’t even set up direct deposit yet, because he’d—God, he’d been so sheltered he hadn’t realized he’d needed to, when up to that point he’d been living on the last of the cash he’d withdrawn before leaving home in Rochester and just...
He didn’t even know.
He was trying to live as if he didn’t come from anywhere; as if he’d just sprouted up here out of nowhere, with no ties to a hollow and meaningless past, to a life as shallow and empty as the life of a mayfly. Living just to be a pretty thing, mate, and die.
Was he doing anything more now?
He didn’t know.
But he still remembered the pride of earning that first check, the memory of every day struggling to pretend to be a responsible adult these boys could look up to until suddenly, somehow, it wasn’t pretending anymore. He’d made the bank teller at the little Chase branch down in town look at him very warily, edging away from him, with how excited he’d been to open a new account in his own name.
And then what, Rian?
Is this far enough? Have you done enough?
That time it didn’t come in the voice of that nasty little voice in his head that liked to tell him how flighty, shallow, useless he was; nor in that soft, cloying, patronizing voice that sounded like a pat on the head every time she said Really, dearest?
That time it came in the voice of Damon Louis, smoldering brown eyes staring into him and peeling him apart and tossing out all the pointless bits of fluff that were the closest things Rian had to substance, asking him what he’d ever done with this life of merit that made him feel he had the right to charge into others’ lives and try to fix things.
Was that all he was?
So useless on his own that he could only find merit in himself if he tried to fix others’ problems? He—
The sound of the last bell yanked him from his maudlin circling, and he jerked his head up, sucking in a breath. Had he really just spent the entire class period brooding, caught up in a pointed and extended anatomical study of his own damned navel?
Apparently so.
Because the classroom was already vacating, students pouring into the hall like someone had let the gate up on the little animals’ pens.
And Chris was already out the door, his tall frame standing head and shoulders above the rest.
Crap.
So much for catching him after class for a talk.
Rian shot out of his chair, pushing it back from his desk quickly and darting around it, pattering toward the door in the wake of the last straggle of students. He knew now that Chris wasn’t dashing off to football practice, but if not...
Where was he going?
If Rian could follow him without being seen, he might get some sort of answer. Maybe it was something innocuous, like rushing off to meet a girl. Or a boy. Or a person. It didn’t matter; Chris wouldn’t be the first sixteen-year-old to turn evasive with friends, teachers, and loved ones because he was dating in secret and fully convinced it was true love in sophomore year.
Rian didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of that before.
It was such an obvious, simple explanation, and God, he wanted it to be that and just that.