Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 140184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 701(@200wpm)___ 561(@250wpm)___ 467(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 140184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 701(@200wpm)___ 561(@250wpm)___ 467(@300wpm)
Maybe it won’t always be like this.
Maybe my prayers will be answered and my period will finally come, and then with the threat of this permanent tether between us lifted, everyone can relax.
Milo hauls me with him toward the stairs, but just before I leave the room, I glance back.
And my heart drops when I see Jonathan looking back at me, too.
Chapter twenty-eight
Kennedy
Even though I only missed one single day of school, it feels like an entire lifetime has passed since I last walked these halls.
I skip lunch and go to the office to change my address and emergency contact information.
The secretary gives me a stern look when I tell her I need to change the emergency contact person and remove my mother. I give her Milo’s information to replace it and she asks, “Is this your father?”
Nope, sure isn't, lady. Mind your business.
I’m 18, so I’m a legal adult. I should be able to change it on my own, but the lady flat out refuses.
“Your mother is still legally responsible for you as far as the school is concerned,” she tells me, her tone unbearably condescending.
“My mother hasn’t been responsible for me a day in her whole life,” I snap. “I don’t live with her anymore, so if anything I need for school goes to her, I will never see it.”
“I can change your mailing address if you’d like, but your mom will still be contacted about any issues regarding attendance or anything else your guardian should be told about.”
That is utter bullshit.
I change the address, but I’m not happy. As I leave the office, I text Milo on my new phone to bitch about the secretary. He tells me he’ll come in tomorrow and take care of it.
When the school day finally ends, my limbs are so heavy and I’m so damn tired I drag ass on the way to Jet’s car. I nearly doze off a couple of times and my head hits the window.
“You okay?” he asks, glancing over at me.
I nod, but I’m worried. I don’t know if I’m so tired because my mental state hasn’t snapped back yet so just going through the motions of a normal day is still significantly harder, or it’s an early pregnancy symptom. Rather than paying attention in class, I spent most of the day anxiously scouring the internet for answers.
I didn’t get any.
Apparently, women unsure whether or not they’re pregnant tend to be an anxious, vigilant bunch. Go figure.
Despite my exhaustion, I’m so happy when we pull into Milo’s driveway.
Home.
It feels like home. All the people I like live here.
I’m not used to that. Home has always been a place that inspired fear or dread, or at the very least casual anxiety. I never even looked forward to weekends because I enjoyed the break school gave me. Now, I can’t wait for it to be Friday.
Overwhelmed with gratitude, I dig out my phone to text Milo real quick. “Thank you for letting me move in with you. I really appreciate it.”
I grab my backpack out of Jet’s car and follow him into the house. Dropping the heavy thing by the stairs, I feel a vibration and check my phone. “I wouldn’t want you anywhere else.”
I smile and text back, “I can’t wait until you’re home, too.”
I drop my phone in my cat purse and head for the kitchen to get a fresh bottle of water. I took one to school with me earlier, but I finished it hours ago.
I’m also freaking starving. By the time I left the office, lunch was nearly over and it didn’t seem worth it to go. I went through the line and grabbed a granola bar and an apple to eat before class, but I’m famished.
“Do you want anything to snack on before dinner?” I ask Jet since he’s going through his backpack at the center island.
“I could eat.”
“So could I,” Jonathan calls from the living room.
I didn’t even know he was in there.
I also don’t know what the boys like to eat. “Now that I’m living here, you guys are going to have to give me a rundown on which foods you like and don’t like.”
“We’re not terribly picky,” Jet says. “Meatloaf is a resounding no and we aren’t big on Brussels sprouts, but I think that’s about it.”
“No allergies?”
“Nope.”
“Eggplant’s gross, and I’m not a fan of cantaloupe,” Jonathan adds, sauntering into the room and glancing at me. “What are you making me?”
“You should learn to cook,” I tell him. “What will you do if you ever have to take care of yourself?”
“I know how. I just choose not to.”
“How about toasted Italian sliders?”
“Mm, yes,” Jet says.
“I’m sure glad we took in a stray that can cook.”
I go to the pantry for some Hawaiian rolls, then hit the refrigerator for lunch meat and provolone cheese. Jonathan watches me ready the sandwiches to go into the oven. I feel his gaze, but I don’t look up since he’s not saying anything.