Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 86199 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86199 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
“We both know that I’ve always been pale. Don’t you remember the way Jonnie Decker teased me in fourth grade? He tried to convince everyone that I was an albino.”
“That kid was such a little fucker.”
“Truth.” There’s a beat of silence. “And he never said another peep to me after you broke his nose.”
For the first time since Holland stepped into my room, a smile lifts the corners of her lips. “That’s one of my favorite memories from elementary school.”
“You’re lucky you didn’t get suspended.”
She shrugs. “I could have used a little R and R. That unit on the Revolutionary War was a killer.” When the humor fades from her expression, I realize that my distraction technique hasn’t worked. “I know you don’t want to hear it, but I’m worried.”
This conversation has become exhausting. I just want to sleep. “Don’t be,” I mumble around a yawn. “Everybody gets sick.”
“Yeah…” Her voice wavers before trailing off. “But not everybody has a weakened immune system.”
I huff out a sigh. “Always have to throw that in my face, don’t you?”
My bestie settles tentatively on the edge of the bed. “That’s not what I’m trying to do.”
“I know.”
“I think we need to—”
Her voice dies a quick death when the doorbell chimes throughout the townhouse.
My eyes lock on hers before narrowing. “If that’s my mom, you’re in deep trouble.”
With a frown, Holland rises to her feet. “I didn’t call her. But I wouldn’t put it past Becks to have a sixth sense where you’re concerned.”
That sad piece of truth is enough to have a weak chuckle escaping from me. “You’re one hundred percent right about that. Sometimes it’s scary.”
“What are you talking about? It’s always scary.” When the doorbell peals for a second time, she says, “I’ll be right back.”
It’s only when she slips from the room that my eyelids drift shut again.
37
Maverick
I’m about to hit the bell for a third time when the door swings open and I find a tall girl with strawberry-blonde hair standing on the other side. Even though I stopped by a couple days ago, we never introduced ourselves.
When she continues to stare in awkward silence, I lift a hand in greeting. “Um, hey. I’m Mav—”
“I know who you are.” Her voice turns impatient. “What do you want?”
I peek past her into the townhouse. “Is Willow around?”
She shifts, blocking my view. “She’s busy at the moment, but I’ll be sure to let her know you stopped by.”
When she takes a step in retreat and tries to slam the door in my face, I flatten my palm against the thick wood. “Busy with what?”
Her narrowed eyes slice to my hand. “You’re going to want to move that appendage unless you’d like it broken.”
My brows shoot up at the hostility that pours off her in heavy waves. “For someone who doesn’t know me, you sure seem to have a problem with me.”
Her nose scrunches. “You play hockey for the Western Wildcats, right?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s all I need to know.”
When she attempts to slam the door in my face for a second time, I lose my patience and bark, “I’m sure you won’t believe this, but I’m actually not trying to piss you off. I just want to talk to Willow and straighten things out between us. I…” My voice trails off as I swallow past the thick lump in my throat.
It would be so much easier to tell this angry girl to go fuck herself, but the most important thing is clearing the air with Willow. I’m not leaving until that happens. So, if that means I need to drop to my knees and beg Willow’s guard dog, who’d much rather take a chunk out of my ass than to let me speak with her—even for five damn minutes—then that’s exactly what I’ll do.
My shoulders wilt as my eyes plead with hers. “Look, I really care about Willow. We had a misunderstanding, and I want to make sure we’re good. If you’re afraid I’m going to come in here and upset her, I won’t. Promise.”
I hold my breath and wait for the verdict.
It takes a handful of seconds for her expression to soften.
Marginally.
For all I know, it’s a trick of the light.
She searches my face for a long, silent moment that leaves me fidgeting beneath her steady stare. I get the feeling this girl sees way more than I’m comfortable with.
Just when I think everything I’ve confessed has fallen on deaf ears and she’ll slam the door in my face one final time, she surprises me by poking a finger at my chest.
“If you say anything to upset her, I’ll personally make sure that you never play hockey again. Are we clear?”
“Crystal.”
The scary part is that I believe her. This girl is no joke. She’d happily fuck me up.
After another hard look, she grudgingly steps aside, allowing me into the tiny entryway.