Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
We’re walking along the pier, something we used to talk about when I was a kid. I was obsessed with this one photo of the East Coast for a while, and now we’re here, not on that exact pier, but one like it. There are fairground rides and happy children and families and couples who make me think of Rust and me.
“Are you brave enough?” Brad winks at me, nodding to the ride that shoots up in the air and then drops down. It makes my belly warble. I can’t go on any rides now, can I? How long until you can’t? I’m not risking it, anyway.
“Come on.” Brad nudges me, grinning. “Or are you chicken?”
He makes the clucking chicken noise. I laugh, shaking my head. “Nah, seriously, I’m good with the cotton candy and the atmosphere.”
“Really? You don’t want to go on any rides? You used to rave about the fair.”
“I just feel a little sick.”
He frowns, and I can tell he thinks this is about the argument. I put my hand on his arm and say, “I’ll watch you. It’ll give me something to laugh about, won’t it?”
He grins, his face lighting up, making me feel like I’m not the worst sister imaginable for a moment. Brad goes on the ride, and I sit on one of the benches, waving to him in the line and then watching as the attendant buckles him into the seat. I can tell he wants this to be like we talked about when I was little, but that all feels so long ago now, like a different life.
The ride takes him up. Everybody screams. My cell phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s a text from a number I don’t have. I got your number from Marquis. He took the contact info when he arranged the flights. We need to speak before you go home. I need to ask you something. Rust x
The kiss at the end gives me a silly amount of hope. I shouldn’t let something as simple as a kiss tip my world upside down and turn me into a complete fool. Yet that’s what I fixate on. I send a quick text as Brad goes up and down the ride.
That sounds ominous. When and where?
I’ll send a car for you tonight. It will be discrete.
I raise my phone, taking photos of the ride in motion in burst mode. When Brad gets off, he looks exhilarated, grinning from ear to ear. “That was something else. Are you sure you don’t want to have a go?”
Inside, something shivers, the way Rust always makes me. He wants to see me tonight, and it sounds bad. Is he going to ask me to… I can’t do that. I’ll have to raise the baby myself and make up a story for Brad. Can I do that? Lie forever? At this point, maybe that’s easier than telling the truth.
“What next?” Brad asks excitedly.
I spring up and put my hand on my brother’s arm, acting like the best little sister he could have. I’m acting like I’d never do anything to hurt him, never risk breaking his heart, and certainly never toy with it. If that’s the case, shouldn’t I text Rust back and tell him it’s over? Tell him I can’t meet him?
I know I’m going to get in that car. I need to see him and make sense of some of this.
“Whatever you want,” I tell Brad.
It’s all I can think about all day, the moment I’ll sneak out of my room and get into the car. I walk it through in my head many times, just like I used to during my crush days. After dinner, Brad and I stand in the hallway outside our rooms. He’s beaming, which means I succeeded, at least, in pretending everything’s okay. I’ve given him a good brother-sister day, the type we used to talk about. I just wish I could’ve savored it, too.
“I know one day doesn’t fix things,” Brad says, “but it’s a start.”
“I already told you. I forgive you. I understand. If it wasn’t for you…”
“You don’t have to accept everything I do just because I helped you.”
“Helped me?” I snap. “You raised me. You could’ve played football in college!”
“I was never that good,” he grumbles.
“You were, Brad.”
“The past is the past. I’m over that. I like the business. I like our life.”
“So do I,” I tell him, “and you’re right. The past is the past. It doesn’t have to control us.”
He hugs me. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Back in my room, sitting on the bed—the same bed I shared so much with Rust—I draw my knees to my chest and stare at my phone. The guilt tries to chew me to pieces, but I’m getting good at pushing that down. It’s like I can split my personality into two separate me’s, each able to deal with their own particular messes.