Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 131789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Funny thing is, Casey and I had hardly ever spoken before her accident this past spring. She was just Sloane’s little sister. The cute, sweet, bubbly cheerleader. Always there in the background. Then afterward, we grew closer. Silas wasn’t so off-base with his accusations; the day we stopped by the Tresscott house, I gave Casey my number when Silas and Sloane left us alone in the kitchen. I don’t know what compelled me to do it. Maybe because she looked so beaten and forlorn, that red gash on her forehead still not fully healed.
I’d kept it light, sympathetic. Told her, hey, if you ever need to talk, I’m a great listener.
I never expected her to actually text me. And I damn well shouldn’t have texted back. But she did, and so did I, and, somehow, we became friends.
Pretty much from the end of April until she left for Colorado this summer, we spent nearly all our time together, taking walks with her dogs on the trail between her house and the main campus. I don’t know that I was great company, but the time seemed to lift her spirits during her darker moments.
The headmaster wasn’t a fan at first. His instincts for danger are clearly more developed than hers. But he couldn’t ignore that spending time together really seemed to help dig Casey out of the hole she fell into after the accident. Under strict guidance that we only see each other for afternoon walks within shouting distance of the house, he allowed it.
Guess he should have known better.
It was only a matter of time before I had Casey sneaking out of the house after curfew to go gallivanting in the middle of the night with my sorry ass.
Tucked into the trees that wrap around campus, a dirt path leads to Casey’s house. A year ago, I would have been stumbling around in the dark getting my legs chewed up by thorns and poison ivy. Now I can practically find my way with my eyes closed.
Just a few yards from the edge of her yard, near enough that the porch lights from the house peek through the leaves, Casey stands in the glow of her phone’s flashlight. Her head lifts with a smile when she sees me coming.
Without a word, she throws her arms around my waist for a hug. It makes me sick that she’s happy to see me. There’s always some part of me that hopes this time she’ll have come to her senses. This time she’ll tell me to piss off. Instead, she holds me tight, and I can’t help but welcome the heat of her pliant body and inhale the scent of her hair. It always smells like lavender.
“Nice jammies,” I tell her.
Lately, evenings are still warm and humid, and Casey showed up in a matching pink PJ set: short-sleeve button-down top and shorts. She looks fucking adorable.
“Oh.” She laughs at her outfit. “Thanks. I figured if anyone saw me leaving, it would look more suspicious if I changed clothes.”
I lift a brow. “Careful. I think I’m starting to have a bad influence on you.”
“Hmm. Yeah, I’ll keep an eye on that.”
She looks good. Like generally happier and more at ease than the last time we’d met. And vastly improved from spring. She’d been so ravaged back then, dealing with nightmares nearly every night. I guess I would be too if I almost drowned and woke up on the bank of a lake without any idea what happened. That shit’s fucked up.
“How’s things?” I ask her. “New school treating you okay?”
Looking away, Casey nibbles her lip. “Meh. Not great, honestly.”
“You’re not liking St. Vincent’s?”
“So far, not a fan.”
“Why, what happened?” An instant jolt of anger hits my blood.
“It’s been a tough week.” Her face falls, sadness and gloom again taking over. It’s heartbreaking. “Nobody really talks to me, but I hear what they’re saying.”
“Like what?”
“Just rumors, you know. Somebody heard from somebody… So yeah, it seems my popular days of cheerleading and yearbook committee are a thing of the past. I’m not making many friends over there.”
“Fuck ’em. They sound like a bunch of dumb cunts.”
“Fenn.” She chastises my word choice, but I’m not wrong. And the hint of a smile tugging at her full pink lips tells me she agrees.
I poke her in the side, smiling playfully. “I could find some sixteen-year-old girl boxer to kick their asses for you. I mean, I’d offer to do it myself, but the optics…”
“Send me to school with my own brute squad, huh?”
“Sure, why not?”
“Maybe you could teach me some moves.” Eyes twinkling, she mocks a few jabs at the air. “I could get super fit and start wearing black eyeshadow.”
“With these skinny little wrists? I think you’re more suited to the art of psychological warfare.” My smile falters. “Seriously, though. Anything I can do to help with the school situation?”