Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84075 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84075 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
The idea makes my cheeks burn and I tug at my hair nervously. No, this is just Ford fucking with me. Instead of twisting my arm like a high school boy, he’s twisting my head like a grown-ass man. He’s doing the same shit he did to Sara Lynn back in the day, only now he’s gotten better at it, and I’m not going to fall for those tricks.
Matthew Keynes. A very good choice. Totally reasonable. Neutral, vanilla, acceptable. Grandfather would love it if I married into the Keynes family—they’re prominent, rich, well connected, a very solid choice. Sensible, practical, reasonable.
So boring I could puke.
Ford’s the opposite of Matthew. Where Matthew is on the shorter side, a little doughy, a little bland, Ford’s tall and dark and handsome and dangerous. Ford scares the hell out of me but every time he’s around, it’s like my body goes into overdrive and every sensation is doubled. The kiss was incredible, easily the best kiss of my life, though admittedly there’s not much to compare it to. If there’s no spark with Matthew, there’s only spark with Ford. One guy is like a nice four-door sedan, and the other is a Ferrari convertible. One’s logical and rational and shrewd, the other is insane and exciting and wild.
I can’t stop thinking about Ford. I don’t even want to start thinking about Matthew.
My phone starts buzzing. I sit up and pull my cover-up tightly around my shoulders as I look at the screen, my core pulsing with excitement, some stupid part of me thinking that it’s going to be Ford.
Instead, it’s a local number I don’t recognize from a town over, and I reluctantly pick it up.
“Hello?”
My mother’s voice comes through raspy and distant like our connection is bad. “Sweetie? Hello?” She clears her throat, and something scrapes across the receiver and then she sounds more like herself again. “Hi, honey.”
“Mom.” Relief floods through me. I haven’t heard from her since she got arrested, and I was beginning to worry something had gone wrong. “Where are you right now?”
“Oh, you know, I’m in another lovely little paradise with kind workers intent on ruining my life.”
“You’re out of jail and in rehab then.”
“It’s a good one, I’ll give your grandfather that. He didn’t go easy on me this time.”
“Mom. I’m so, so relieved you’re out. What the hell happened?”
“Oh, honey, don’t worry about the details. You’ll hear it all when the court case goes to trial, but please, don’t believe any of it, I’m totally innocent. It was just, I was a little tired and hadn’t eaten and—” Mom goes through her usual litany of excuses, none of which involve I was high out of my mind and it was my fault this happened, and my stomach slowly sinks.
Nothing’s changed. Nothing at all.
“At least you’re safe,” I say when she finishes. “That’s important, right? And you’re not—”
“I’m not using,” Mom says quickly. “I’m sober, thank god. And I want to do it right this time.”
“Mom…”
“Honey, I know you’ve heard that a thousand times, but this was a close one. I really mean it.”
I nod to myself and take a deep breath. This was a close one, just like the time she OD’d and is only alive because an EMT got there fast enough to give her Narcan, or the time she got hit by a car and nearly died, or the time she got robbed at gunpoint, or a dozen other this-was-a-close-ones.
“I’m just happy you’re getting the help you need.”
“Listen, hon, I don’t have long. I just wanted to call and say I’m doing okay and that I love you, and I miss you, and I want to come home soon.”
“I’d love it if you came home, Mom.”
“And I wanted to ask, uh, listen, did Daddy say anything? About my allowance?”
My heart sinks. She only refers to Grandfather as “Daddy” when she needs money. “No, he didn’t mention anything.”
“Okay, because my card’s cut off and I think there’s a problem at the bank? But don’t worry, I can figure it out, I’ll totally figure it out. Oh, god, the head nurse is looking at me like she’s about to cut off my fingers. Yes, okay, I’ll get off the phone, stop acting like I’m ordering crack right now or something. Anyway, I love you, sweetie, say hello to Daddy for me, kiss, kiss, bye-bye.” She hangs up and the line goes dead.
I lean back in the chair and stare at the pool and let the phone slip from my fingers. It clatters to the concrete.
This isn’t going to stick.
It never sticks. Sometimes she goes a few weeks, sometimes a few months, but she always relapses. Slowly at first, and then all at once, until she hits rock bottom and has to go back to rehab and the cycle begins again. My whole life has been one long, agonizing torture, alternately hoping Mom will kick her addictions and improve and wishing she’d just disappear already and stop torturing me with all this crap.