Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 129207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
I scoff. “I don’t get jealous.”
“That right there, Raleigh Stone, was the biggest lie you’ve ever told.”
I shake my head. “Nope. The biggest lie I ever told was when you were going out to that gig across town, the one with the cranky bar manager, and you asked me if I liked your shirt. I didn’t. It was hideous. I hate that shirt, but I told you I liked it because it was already too late for you to change.”
His jaw drops. “Holy fucking shit. Raleigh Stone is a stone-cold liar.”
“I know. Isn’t it thrilling?” I say, grinning. “You better watch yourself, ’cause you never know when I might strike next.”
His gaze narrows. “What other lies have you told me?”
I chew the inside of my cheek, trying to figure out just how honest I’m willing to be. “That it doesn’t bother me if you were to become some big-time rockstar and go on tour,” I admit. “I know we always talk about it happening, and I want that for you, I really do, but I see how good you are, and if I can see it, then so can some big-time record label. It won’t be long before that happens, and I guess . . . I’m scared it’s going to happen too soon.”
“Too soon?”
“You’re eighteen, Ezra. I’m fifteen. If you get a record deal tomorrow and go on tour, you’d have no choice but to leave me behind, despite how much of a fight I put up about it. You’re going to leave me behind.”
He shakes his head. “That’s never going to happen,” he tells me. “I’m not leaving this place without you. I promise.”
A heaviness settles into my chest like a dead weight, refusing to budge. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
“Have I ever broken a promise before?”
“I ummm . . . I don’t think you’ve ever promised me anything before, so how am I supposed to know?” I challenge. “You could be a terrible promise keeper.”
“Actually,” he says. “I think you’re right. I’m kinda shit with promises. Secrets too. Don’t tell me shit. I’ve got a big mouth. But when it comes to you, Raleigh Stone, I’m not breaking anything. We’re going to make it big one day, and when we are performing in sold-out stadiums across the world, you’re going to be right there with me, and this time, there’s nothing hypothetical about that.”
A stupid smile stretches across my face, and everything inside of me begins to melt as Ezra reaches for his guitar. He takes my hand and pulls me toward the garage just as the familiar sound of Dad coming home fills the kitchen, and suddenly, the warmth in the house fades away. It’s been a year since Mom passed, and I hate to admit it, but I think Dad has been drunk every single one of those days, and what’s worse, he’s a nasty, mean drunk.
For the most part, he leaves us alone, but every now and then, he turns his sights on me, and when he does, I always spend the rest of my day in tears. I think it’s because I look so much like Mom. He struggles to even look at me, struggles to have any kind of relationship with me, and I hate it. This home was always my sanctuary, but that’s starting to shift now, and when the boys aren’t here, leaving me alone with Dad, my sanctuary morphs into a prison.
“Come on,” Ezra murmurs, keeping his voice down. “I wanna take you somewhere.”
My brows furrow, and I let him lead me along, stopping by the garage to put his guitar away before slipping out the garage door to avoid an awkward run-in with my father. Before I know it, we’re in his car, flying down the street.
He pulls to a stop outside a tattoo parlor, and I stare out the window, gaping at the shop. “We’re going in there?” I ask, wondering just how sanitary it is.
“Uh-huh,” he says. “How am I supposed to be some famous rockstar without a single tattoo?”
My face scrunches, not too sure about the whole tattoo thing. Axel got one a few months ago—a tribute to our mom—and it was a nightmare. Pretty sure he almost ended up with an infection that had him sulking on the couch like a little baby for nearly two weeks. I don’t want to see the same thing happen to Ezra.
“Come on. It’ll be fine,” he says, knowing exactly where my head has gone.
I groan and get out of his car before letting him drag me into the tattoo parlor and over the space of the next thirty minutes, I watch with hearts in my eyes as he gets the words Hypothetically Yours tattooed across his chest, a permanent gesture to remind me that no matter where he is in the world or how many screaming fans are calling his name, his heart will always belong right here, entwined with mine.