Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
She shakes her head. “Too little C.” She narrows her eyes. “I can see you've shaved, and I support that. You went out somewhere, on a bike no less, and I support that, too. But seriously, Cross, I want to know how you are, because Suri's worried about you and I am, too.”
Right—so this is about Suri. I rub my eyes, but I can't complain much. I should have known a long time ago that Suri was getting too...caught up. Lizzy even told me that she was, on the drive to the vineyard on the day that we got hauled off to Mexico. But I didn’t believe her. And after that day’s adventure, I kind of forgot about it. Selfish, thoughtless Cross. I let Suri get and stay close to me, and then I let her lay it all out on the table before I sent her away with her tail between her legs.
Through the web of my fingers, rubbing my eyes, I see Lizzy sink down to the polished cement floor and cross her legs. Looking up at me, she says, “It's not your fault she didn't see straight. She shouldn't have thought you felt the same way just because she hoped you did. She's not upset with you. She’s upset...with herself, I guess.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “That why she hasn't called?”
Lizzy nods.
“She ever gonna call?”
She nods again. “Sometime. Probably soon. I think she's just embarrassed.”
I snort. “No need for that shit. We're all friends, aren't we?” The question comes out sounding kind of like a jab. I feel like a five-year-old, but the truth is, it bugs the shit out of me that Lizzy's just a few weeks away from walking down the aisle to marry Hunter West. Instead of being my friend, she's going to be some other dude's wife. I know it’s immature and patriarchal and whatever else, but it rubs me the wrong way—especially given his history as a womanizer.
Lizzy makes a tsking sound. “I sense some bitterness.” And then, in all seriousness: “Really, Cross. You still don't like him, do you?”
I stand up and start pacing like a caged lion. “You tell me he's a fine guy.”
“But you don't believe me.”
“So what, Lizzy? I'm gonna forever hold my peace. Isn't that what matters?”
She stands up, coming over to me, but instead of hands on hips this time, she wraps her arms around her waist. “You know that's not what matters. Cross, we’re family. I don't want you to be unhappy whenever you think of me. I want our friendship to stay good.” She exhales, looking miserable. “If there's something I can do, something that will make you feel more open to—”
I toss my arms out. “There's nothing you can do, Lizzy. You've done nothing wrong. Neither has West, at least not to me. And before you ask, I'm fine about the money thing.”
Lizzy sold her virginity at a brothel in Vegas so she could help pay my medical bills after my motorcycle wreck. The story had a happy ending—for her, at least. Hunter West, her soon-to-be hubby, was the highest bidder.
She did this while I was in my coma. When I first woke up, I was pissed, but I’ve gotten used to it now.
Lizzy comes a little closer, and I can smell her lotion: gardenias and maybe roses. I stare into her face, so different than it was before my wreck. She looks thinner... Less like the grown-up Lizzy I knew and more like the girl I knew in high school.
“It's okay, Liz. I'll learn to like West. I can even show him how to fix that banged up Roadster he's got in the garage.” I paste a smile on, hold my arms out, so she comes in for a hug. “Friends forever?”
“BFFs,” she says warmly, pressing her cheek against my chest.
I open my eyes and pull away first, then walk back to my Sunkist and ease down on the floor. I motion to the chair. “Sit down and stay for a little while.”
And Lizzy does. We talk for two hours—longer, I think, than we have since before the accident. We talk about everything but the pain attacks; she doesn't ask, for once, and I don't tell her that they're getting worse.
I wait until she's almost out the door to drop the bomb: “Wanted to mention I might be headed down to Mexico.”
Her eyes pop open wider.
I shrug one shoulder. “Biker thing.”
I can see the approval on her face—the relief that I'm finally living life again.
I shut the door behind her, grab my soda, and head up to my room to read the folded papers in my pocket.
I surprised myself, too, with that little revelation. I'm going to motherfucking Mexico.
6
Merri
“BLESS ME, FATHER, for I have sinned. It has been more than three weeks since my last confession.”