Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 118579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 593(@200wpm)___ 474(@250wpm)___ 395(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 593(@200wpm)___ 474(@250wpm)___ 395(@300wpm)
Rosie
Stop texting me, Dean.
Dean
Saw your mom on her way to your room. She’s gonna give you crap again if you stay here. Hang out with me. I promise not to touch you.
Rosie
What’s in it for you?
Dean
You.
Simple. Honest. True.
I’d wanted her ever since Millie left. Probably before that. Fine, definitely before that. But I waited it out, knowing my place. If Jacob could be patient, so could I.
She didn’t answer straightaway; therefore, she was debating this. Rosie wanted to see me. This week was difficult for her. I gave her another nudge.
Dean
I wanna learn more about your music. You wanna get the fuck out of here. We’ll make it to the rehearsal in a timely manner.
Rosie
Dean…
Dean
No touching.
Rosie
Okay.
Little victories.
I was about to stand up and walk to her room when my phone lit and a call came through. Nina. I knew why she was calling, and I was tempted to answer. She had something of mine that I wanted, but the price I had to pay to get to him was too damn high. Not the money, even though she requested lots and lots of it. Her freedom.
She used to have it all. My time. My heart. My devotion. And she threw it all away.
I was a fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, you’re fucking good-as-dead kind of guy. I didn’t believe in second chances unless it was with Rosie. So I let her go, merely keeping her alive.
I shouldn’t have wanted to answer that phone so bad and end this.
End all the question marks, the torturous wondering, swimming in the unknown.
I shouldn’t have. But I did.
Eleven Years Ago
What makes you feel alive?
My family. Their imperfections. Their fierce love. Their unconditional worry. Their dedication to a lost cause. To me.
THE NIGHT BEFORE MILLIE LEFT for New York wasn’t much different than any other night. We slept in the same bed, even though we had separate rooms. Feet on the wall, staring at the ceiling, hugging a pillow or each other. That was our signature position. Sometimes it was my bed. Sometimes it was hers. I hated that I loved sleeping in her bed because it smelled like him. They weren’t having sex, but his scent was everywhere.
On her sheets. On her desk. In my soul.
This time we were in my room, and the glow-in-the-dark stars gazed back at us. I always loved stars. They reminded me how small my problems were in this big universe.
“Dean and I slept together,” she croaked into the gloom and took my hand in hers. I stiffened, my eyes fluttering shut. Think about stars.
Everything stopped. My lungs burned, my body ached, and tears burned the back of my nose. The room grew darker; my breaths became heavier. She didn’t know. My sister, who was so perceptive, knew everything about me, about my body, about my health, my friends and taste in music, didn’t even know what her boyfriend did to me. Just hearing his name made my heart prickle. My stomach flipped, wave after wave of warmth swirling inside it. But, of course, she was blind to my feelings. She was too busy with hers.
“Was it good?” I faked a smile. And I hated her. And I hated him. But most of all, I hated myself.
She shrugged one shoulder. It brushed against mine. “It was a mistake.”
“You think?”
“I know.” We were still staring at the ceiling and not at each other, and for that, I was grateful. “Our whole relationship is. I think he’s with me because he tries to protect me from Vicious. He doesn’t understand it only fuels the fire in this guy.”
“And you?” I managed to ask through the ball of tears twisting in my throat.
“And me…” Her grip on my hand tightened. “I like Dean. Who doesn’t? He is the definition of fun. But I don’t…”
Love him. Like I do.
“We’re trying to make us happen, but there’s something missing. The magic. He says he’s in this one hundred percent. He acts this way, too. He never asked me about Harvard, though. Not that I blame him, but he just applied, enrolled, and made plans without me. Anyway…it’s cool. It’s not like I want to go with him. Hey, Rosie?”
“Yeah?”
“What’s your dream?”
I blinked one time, then another. She didn’t know it, but I was fighting tears, and not just because she had lost her virginity to the guy I loved.
“I don’t have a dream.” The answer came after a few seconds of me trying to regulate my pulse.
“Why?”
“Because what’s the point? I won’t have time to pursue it.”
Instead of arguing, Millie took a different approach. She tilted her body in my direction, brushed my cheek with her thumb, and asked, “And if time wasn’t an issue?”
“Then…I guess to be a mother would be nice. I mean, yeah, I want to be financially independent. Maybe become a graphic designer or a nurse or whatever. But what I really want is to take care of someone and love them wholly and unconditionally. And, of course, do it someplace cool.”