Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 93312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
I frown. “Are you saying it wasn’t an accident?” I shake my head, dismissing the thought. I’ve wondered what happened that night, but people hurt themselves jumping off that cliff all the time. After Danny died, they finally put up signs warning against it. But not once did foul play enter my mind. “Who would want to hurt him?”
“That’s what I’m going to find out,” he promises. “And if I find out you’re lying to me—”
“I’m not,” I snap.
“We’ll see.”
Thayer
“Think she’s telling the truth?” Holden asks, eyes locked on Shayne’s retreating form as she stomps back to her car. I can’t help but feel amused by her newfound attitude. When Holden first told me she was back, I was pissed—no—I was fucking enraged. How dare she show her face as if nothing happened? But now? Now our little encounters are something I look forward to in a way I can’t make sense of. Not that I’ve ever been able to make sense of anything where Shayne is concerned.
“About not knowing anything?” I shrug, watching her ass bounce in those fucking spandex shorts that used to drive me insane, then she’s tossing her bags into her back seat before getting into the driver’s seat. “Maybe. But that doesn’t make her innocent.” As if on cue, Shayne rolls down her window, sticks her arm out, and throws her middle finger up.
“No,” Holden agrees. “Not so innocent anymore, is she?”
I catch his hungry expression in the rearview mirror and something like jealousy swirls in my gut. He doesn’t know Shayne was mine once. No one does. She was my dirty little secret. And I’m going to keep it that way.
Reaching around the front seat, I slap the side of his head a little harder than necessary.
“The fuck,” he barks, peeling his eyes away from Shayne.
“Move over. I’m driving.”
Holden climbs over the middle console and I get out, jumping into the front seat.
“So what now?”
“Befriend her. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer and all that shit.”
Holden looks at me as if I’ve grown two heads. “How the fuck am I supposed to do that? She’s not exactly trusting of us anymore.”
“Then make her trust you. If she knows something, she’ll eventually let it slip.”
Secrets never stay buried for long.
Especially not in Sawyer Point.
Shayne
“Shayne?” my mom’s hesitant voice calls from the other side of the bathroom door. I sink lower into the water until the bubbles come up to my chin, making sure I don’t have any special jewelry peeking out.
“Come in.”
The door opens, revealing my mom, contrite expression on her face. “Did you get my message?”
Shit. I never responded after Thayer and Holden intercepted me after volleyball. “Sorry, practice ran late, and I totally spaced it.”
She buys the lie easily, making her way over to the toilet to sit on top of the closed lid. “That’s okay. I just want to make sure it’s okay with you. I can tell them to ask someone else,” she offers. “Five days is a long time to be alone.”
“Mom,” I say flatly. “I’m eighteen. I think I can handle it.”
She purses her lips. “I know you can. Doesn’t mean you should have to. It’s different now with Grey being gone.”
“I’m going to be swamped with school and late practices, anyway. I won’t even notice you’re gone.”
“I’ll call your brother and have him come home for the weekend, at least.”
“That won’t be necessary,” I assure her. My brother is in his own fucked-up, unreachable bubble right now, and I’m not even sure she realizes it. The fact that he’s two hours away is the perfect cover. “Who is it this time? Anyone I’d know?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Some hotshot athlete,” she says with a wave of her hand. “He actually stated that platform heels are mandatory for air hostesses.”
“Gross,” I say, wrinkling my nose. My mom’s job seems glamorous on the surface. She gets to spend all her time on private jets, visiting the world and receives tips in the form of expensive handbags and flashy jewelry. But she also has to deal with handsy men who think she’s offering other services, and the very real possibility of being replaced by someone younger or prettier or thinner at the drop of a hat. I don’t know how she does it.
She shrugs. “For what he’s paying, I’d dress up like a clown and let him call me Bozo.”
I laugh, splashing bubbles at her. I want to press for details about who she’s been with and why she’s been so secretive, but these moments—when smiles and light conversation and teasing come easy—are few and far between these days. “When do you leave?”
“Monday. At least I have more than a day’s notice this time.”
I nod and she pats her thighs before standing. “I’ll let you finish up.” She walks away, stopping in the doorway, one hand on the frame. “Remind me to ask you about college applications later.”