Total pages in book: 192
Estimated words: 182641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 913(@200wpm)___ 731(@250wpm)___ 609(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 182641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 913(@200wpm)___ 731(@250wpm)___ 609(@300wpm)
The second they start walking, we do as well.
Worry weighs heavy in the girls’ eyes, but I offer them the smallest of smiles I can and excuse myself the second we’ve reached the last step. Desperate for a few minutes alone, I lock myself in the lavatory so I don’t freak the fuck out and go crazy.
I take deep breaths, blowing in and out, but it doesn’t help, and when I look up in the mirror, I crumble.
My face caving, my lips trembling as I drop, my hands gripping the cool granite as my knees hit the floor. My head falls forward, and I weep silently.
Trust.
My father always said it’s both the best and worst thing in our world. I thought I understood what he meant.
I was so fucking wrong.
Chapter 32
Bass
My phone rings and a harsh thump drums deep in my chest, my fingers twitching when I look at it to find “My Rich Girl” lighting up the screen, but at the same time, something inside me settles for the first time in far too fucking long.
Been a hot minute since she’s called, texted, begged and pleaded, all to turn around and cuss me out. It’s a vicious little cycle my girl puts herself through every time she loses the battle of restraint she tries to pretend she possesses, but we both know the truth. She has none when it comes to me, same as I have none when it comes to her.
I knew the messages would start to fade, come fewer and further between, but I’d be lyin’ if I said a small part of me didn’t hate it, maybe even become worried, once they did. If I hadn’t had one eye on her at all times from the day I left till now, I might even have thrown a fit about it, given in and gone to her. I might have felt compelled to let her know that this whole time she thought I was walking away, I was simply preparing for our ending while at the same time using her bad move as a light form of punishment.
I wanted her to stress over me, to sit there and wonder if I had just up and walked away, and I know she sat there many times, calling me a bitch in her head. What kind of dude can’t handle some bullshit talk about his past in front of other people? Yeah, I bet she asked herself that a couple times at least, the man she knew me to be unbothered by words, but it served a purpose.
That shit did piss me off, which is one of the reasons why I decided to let her believe I cut her out completely and it led to my going about things the way I have. But it was also because I had to tie up loose ends where I was living before I could take the spot I wanted.
So yeah, seeing her name on the screen now, it does something to me.
So fucking close now, baby.
The phone stops ringing, and not fifteen seconds later, the notification pops up that a voice mail came through. My skin itches with eager anticipation, damn near desperate to hear her voice when her words are meant to be mine and not a conversation I’m listening in on. I can almost guess what she is calling to say, but as I put the phone on speaker and press play, I realize I am not prepared.
“Basti—” She swallows her own whisper and starts again, “Bass …”
My name, or what people call me, the one I never wanted her to use but demanded she did last time she saw me, is no more than an exhale past her lips and it takes a lot of work to keep mine firmly together. It sounds so fucking wrong coming from her lips.
The unmistakable desperation, dripping in uncertain fear, both new and foreign feelings for this girl, is like an electric bolt through my system, a painful shock that has my heart rate skipping. I’m completely fucked up on the inside, angrier for too many reasons to count while making sure there’s not a single sign of it on the outside.
It takes her a few silent seconds to decide what she wants to say in her voice mail, and I wait for her shaky tone to, once again, suck the air from the room.
“Please,” she whispers. “Bass, I need you. Someone has my father, and I … I can’t trust who I thought I could, but I know I can trust you. Something’s going on and I don’t want to talk about it over the phone, but please just …” Her voice travels further away now as if she’s preparing to hang up and her last words are an afterthought not necessarily meant for me, but I hear them loud and clear. “Come back to me.”