Total pages in book: 215
Estimated words: 199344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 997(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 199344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 997(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
“How out of control?”
“Like, almost once a week,” she says sheepishly. “But I always keep it short and sweet. Like when she needs someone to tell her that she’s doing okay or when she needs guidance. Though I may have used it to my advantage when she was crushing on this asshole kid at school by suggesting that Linc thought he was a piece of shit.”
A wide grin stretches across my face, and I reach over the center console to take her hand, feeling more at peace every day. Talking about Linc used to be so fucking hard that I would crumble, and now . . . I find myself welcoming it. Even needing it.
“Soooo . . . If I have to be on trial, then so do you,” Zoey says.
I narrow my stare on her, glancing at her for a moment before looking back at the road. “Yes?” I question, unsure why I feel so nervous.
“Okay, I’ve been dying to know, but I didn’t want to seem like the gossipy type, but if you don’t tell me, I think I might go insane,” she starts, pausing for a second and watching me as if still debating if she’s going to ask or not. “The other week at your first game of the season, what the hell did you say to Shannan that got her to fade out of existence?”
I laugh. “Really? That’s the big question that’s been plaguing your pretty little mind?”
“Uh . . . yeah.”
“Who would have known that Zoey James was so nosey?”
“You, Noah,” she says bluntly. “You knew that.”
I grin. Yeah, I did.
“Okay, fine,” I finally say, sparing her a quick glance. “So, despite the semester only just starting, Shannan was already failing a few classes and had been skipping enough to get the principal’s attention. Then during my week of lunchtime detentions with Daniels, I overheard that she’d been offering some of her teachers sexual favors for better grades.”
Her mouth drops, and I have to force myself to keep my eyes on the road. “You’re lying,” she gasps, her eyes widening. “Tell me you’re lying.”
“I don’t lie,” I tell her.
Zoey scoffs. “I have literally sat with you and helped you come up with lies before.”
I smirk. “Okay, fine. I lie occasionally, but I’m not lying now.”
“Holy crap,” she breathes. “That is some juicy gossip.”
“Zo,” I warn.
“I know. My lips are sealed, but I’m not going to lie, it’s nice knowing I have that little bit of information in my back pocket to save for a rainy day,” she says before fixing me with a hard stare. “Now, are we going to pretend you didn’t just gloss over the week of lunchtime detentions? Care to share?”
I laugh and shake my head. “I can’t tell you all my secrets now, can I?”
Zoey rolls her eyes but falls silent as I pull into the main entrance of East View Cemetery. My hands start to shake on the wheel as a lump forms in my throat, and I try to hide how hard it is to breathe. Undeniable guilt washes over me for not having been here since Linc’s funeral, but if I didn’t have Zoey here with me, I wouldn’t have the strength to go further than the front gates.
“It’s okay,” she tells me. “You can do this.”
I hold her stare for a moment before letting out a deep breath and hitting the gas.
East View Cemetery is huge, and since I haven’t been here for so long, Zoey has to give me directions. Then all too soon, she’s telling me to pull over. My hands never stop shaking, not when I get out of the car, and not when Zoey falls into my side and takes my hand in hers.
We walk through the manicured grass, and a part of me is glad to see how well this cemetery has been looked after. Every single tombstone is sparkling, and despite the many trees lining the rows of graves, there’s not a single fallen leaf lingering on the ground.
Zoey leads me through the rows of graves, going the long way around to be respectful and not cut across any of them. When she slows, her gaze bounces up to meet mine. “He’s just over here,” she murmurs before pointing to the familiar grave a few places down.
My gaze locks on to it, reading over the words on his tombstone.
In loving memory
Lincoln Alexander Ryan
05/31/2011–07/19/2021
Beloved son, brother & best friend
“Fucking hell,” I mutter, blowing out a shaky breath as I drag my hand down my face. Reading those words hurts so bad.
Unable to focus on the tombstone a second longer, I drop my gaze to the handful of things scattered at the bottom. There’s a plastic folder that’s almost overflowing with papers, and I can only assume they’re the letters Hazel writes to Linc. There’s a photo of the four of us—my family—Mom, Dad, me, and Linc. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that photo, but I remember the day it was taken. It feels like a lifetime ago. There’s a second frame holding the same photo that lingers on Linc’s desk in his room. Me, Zoey, Hazel, and Linc, only the words the four musketeers are etched into the frame, and it brings a smile to my lips.