Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
I swallow thickly as I nod. If the videos are on their phones, I can find them. But when I went through their clouds, I only found photos of them, none of Quinn. I have a feeling it’s on a hard drive or a USB. I could break in to their apartment and find it. It shouldn’t be that hard. Or I can do this the legal way since I’ve been dancing across legal lines all morning. “Work with me, Yvette. Convince her to let him go.”
“I don’t know—”
“If she wants you, she can have you with the money. Her parents will come around. Tell her that,” I stress, holding her gaze. “We’ve both been beyond miserable with this charade. It’s time we get who we want.”
She swallows hard. But by the glint in her eyes, I know I’ve got her.
I just need her to be enough for Ava to let Quinn off the hook.
Before I have to add breaking and entering to the list of things I’d do to get Quinn back.
Now, that may go against my moral code.
Chapter
Thirty-Three
Quinn
Owen: Update on last night? Was there a murder?
Evan: Bro.
Shelli: Omg.
Posey: I can sum up the night in the words of the great Shea Adler: Put your hands on my son again, and I’ll pay Emery’s bail.
Owen: NO FUCKING WAY!
Owen: Details!
Owen: I need details!
Shelli: Ava pushed Quinn, and Emery body slammed her to the floor.
Owen: What! Where is my video?
Evan: Jesus, Shell. Our sister is so dramatic. That’s not what happened. Ava did push Quinn, but Emery was very classy as she snatched her by the back of her hair and told her if she did it again, she’d kill her. #SheCanBeClassyWhenSheWants
Posey: This was after Emery looked Ava square in the eye and told her that Ava was his now, but Emery was his future. #BossBitch
Shelli: #IWantToBeEmeryWhenIGrowUp
Owen: That’s it. I need to be traded to the Assassins. I miss all the good stuff.
Posey: True.
Owen: So, what happened? Did our baby brother finally come to his senses?
Shelli: He left with Ava.
Evan: Dad was pissed.
Posey: And no one has heard anything.
Shelli: Our brother is radio silent, and Mom hasn’t heard a thing either.
Owen: So, when are we jumping Ava? At the wedding?
As everyone laughs and likes Owen’s question, I mute the sibling chat. I lean back in the seat of the Bugatti, letting my head fall back on a groan. I’m becoming the clown of the family, and it isn’t sitting right with me. I’ve always been the smart one, the one everyone looked to because I was a wealth of information. I always had an answer for whatever anyone needed to know.
While hockey didn’t work out for me, I’m still brilliant with my photographic brain. Though, my big brain was no match for the heartache of Emery walking away. Still, once I was somewhat on my feet, my plan to make my family proud came back to center stage. A plan I’ve been working toward since I was a teenager.
But plans change, don’t they?
It’s hard being the baby in a family of such dynamic people. Each of them shines in their places in the hockey world, and then there is me. Yes, I did assist on a surgery this morning on a kid’s elbow, and it went great. After rehab, the kid will hit the ice with ease, but knowing that didn’t fill me with excitement like I thought it would. Instead, I stressed myself out with the what-ifs. What if I didn’t screw the pin in hard enough? What if his sutures get infected? What if we think he’ll make a full recovery, but I fucked something up and ruined his hockey career?
Fuck.
Anxiety runs in my family, Evan getting the brunt of it, but I never thought I’d join the battle. I guess you never know when anxiety will hit. It comes at you like a fucking thief in the night and steals the joy from your soul. It really didn’t affect me until I started training on surgeries. I considered trying medication, but the side effects aren’t worth it to me. I’ve tried meditation and even breathing exercises, but they haven’t been working. It’s fucking unfair. My poor mom struggled with it growing up. She hated her body, and with the shit her family did to her, she couldn’t overcome it. Until my dad. He was her peace.
Emery.
Even without touching her, I find just being in her space clears my mind.
I close my eyes while I breathe deeply through my nose and recount what I did after the surgery. I was so overwhelmed that I grabbed a guitar off the wall from Dr. Abrams’s display of vintage guitars and started playing. I didn’t even mean to make my own acoustic version of “Birds of a Feather” by Billie Eilish, but a certain pair of gray eyes were on my mind, and it just happened. I was surprised how quickly my anxiety vanished, and I was left with one hell of a song and thoughts of my girl.