Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
For one second, I consider pretending I don’t know who he’s talking about. That would get me nowhere. So instead, I lift a shoulder, fighting for the right thing to say. “I mean, it would be nice if he would reach out to let us know he’s all right. I’d feel a lot better if he did that.”
But when will he? Maybe he never will. It’s a good thing there aren’t any sensors on my chest, because they’d be going crazy by now. I feel like my heart is going to burst.
“You better be careful,” he says, his eyes narrowing as they search my face. “I might wonder whether you love him.”
It’s like I just dropped over the edge of the first hill on a roller coaster, and my stomach plummeted along with me. “No. I don’t. Is that what you think?”
“Relax. I’m not accusing you of anything.”
No, but it’s pretty obvious the comment didn’t come out of nowhere. “Is this something you’ve been thinking about? Have I done something to make you doubt me?”
“You’re getting me all wrong. I’m not accusing you of anything. It’s all right if you love him. I would understand.”
“But I don’t!” And I don’t like the direction this conversation has gone. It makes me feel antsy and uncomfortable, like I can’t sit still. “I’m concerned. He’s your brother. Of course, I care.”
He only snorts softly, then lets out a deep sigh. “Fine, have it your way. I’m exhausted. We can argue about this later.”
I don’t want to argue. I want him to believe me, dammit. It’s obvious he doesn’t—and it’s obvious I’m all messed up about it. Where is this coming from?
While Colt closes his eyes, I return to the window like staring into a dark night will help anything. Maybe I’ll make up the couch later. Right now, I want to sit up and keep an eye on him. Besides, I doubt I’d get a minute of sleep with a war going on in my head. Do I love Nix? I mean, I guess there wouldn’t be anything wrong with that.
But am I in love with him? Big difference. I can’t be—not only because I’m already in love with Colt. I can’t be in love with both of them at the same time. It’s like when they’re together, they unlock something inside each other that always exists, but they somehow manage to suppress on their own—at least most of the time.
When they’re together, there’s no hope of fighting what’s inside them. And they always end up taking it out on me. That is the last thing I should want to be around, right? I should protect myself from them.
So why do I still want to see Nix walk through that door right this very minute? Why am I a little twisted up inside, imagining him in pain, maybe even in danger?
Instead of setting up the pull-out like the nurse suggested, I pull a blanket from the closet and curl up in the chair next to the bed. I would rather keep watch over Colt, anyway.
And it’s not like I have any chance of falling asleep with Nix out there somewhere, all alone.
24
NIX
It’s not like I don’t have any experience sneaking around, avoiding notice. It’s like I’ve been preparing for this night all along.
By the time I reach my shitty neighborhood, the blood along the side of my face has dried. I must look like something out of a horror movie—one side scarred, the other looking like I just paid a visit to a butcher shop. My hood hides it all anyway, and I make sure to pull the sides over my face whenever I come too close to people. Not that they would go out of their way to stare for long. It’s only a Tuesday night, but it seems like most of the people I pass are either on their way to do something fun or coming back from it, half-drunk and distracted by their own shit.
Besides, nobody likes to stare too long at the weird, secretive guy with his hands in his pockets. He could be trouble.
Right now, I am trouble. I almost wish somebody would try to fuck with me just so I could have an excuse to kick their face in.
Who did it? Who tampered with Colt’s car? It’s obvious the same person is responsible for the message Leni got today—I mean, I’m not a genius, but I can put two and two together. But who did it? How will we ever find out? Those questions, added to the soreness that gets a little worse with every block I trudge, have me in the mood for violence.
As it turns out, there’s no excuse to lash out by the time I reach the apartment building. If the guys on the front stoop have missed me, they don’t show it, sticking to the usual chin-jerk greeting before they go back to their softly muttered conversation. It’s funny how I’ve told Colt so many times I want to come back here rather than live with him and Leni and put them in danger because, as I walk up the narrow stairs and smell the familiar piss and cooking odors from other apartments, it hits me—I never saw myself doing this again. Not really. Deep down inside, I didn’t think I’d ever come back.