Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 48271 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 241(@200wpm)___ 193(@250wpm)___ 161(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48271 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 241(@200wpm)___ 193(@250wpm)___ 161(@300wpm)
“And when she turned around …”
I lean in closer, dying for the conclusion of this story. That’s when Gunnar’s voice pitches from a whisper to a booming roar.
“The little boy leaped from the dark corner and stabbed her with a steel hook!” He grabs my stomach, punctuating his words.
A scream rips from my chest in a sudden burst of terror, my startled jump propelling the bowl of popcorn and jug of iced tea through the air.
Gunnar falls onto his back, erupting into laughter.
“Gunnar, you jerk,” I yell, but my laughter blends with his. “You nearly scared me to death.” My hand finds its place over my frantic heartbeat, trying to calm the rapid rhythm.
“You should have seen the look on your face,” he continues to laugh.
“Ha ha,” I mock dryly, though I can’t hide my own smile. It was well-played. “Come on, help me clean up this mess.”
Together, we gather the scattered popcorn kernels. Once the cleanup is done, we roll out our sleeping bags, ready to settle in for the night.
“Hey, look what I found.” Gunnar picks up a strewn photo next to my bag.
“Oh, that’s mine,” I reveal, realizing it must have fallen out. “I brought it out to show you. It’s a picture of my parents at Heart Mountain when they were teenagers. Paw and I stumbled upon it the other day while cleaning out the cellar. Pretty cool, huh?”
“Yeah.” His gaze lingers on the photo, his eyes tracing its edges with an almost thoughtful expression. “You look a lot like your mom.”
I beam at the comparison, taking it as a compliment since my mother was really pretty. “Thanks. Paw always says that too.”
Gunnar hands me over the photo. “Do you remember them?”
“Not really,” I confess, feeling a pang of sadness. “Sometimes, I think I have a memory, but then I wonder if it’s something I conjured from a picture I saw. Ya know?”
He nods in understanding.
“I still miss them, though,” I add. “Kinda weird, huh?”
Gunnar shrugs. “Not really. It’s your feelings so they have to make sense, right?”
His response is kind and reassuring. He never makes me feel bad or weird.
“What about you?” I ask carefully, knowing this is a difficult subject for him. “Do you ever miss your parents?”
There’s no hesitation in his response. “No. I like living with Ryland. I just wish I knew why they did it.” He pulls his knees to his chest, his eyes betraying a mix of confusion, hurt, and anger. “Why have a kid if they didn’t want one?”
It’s a rhetorical question, but I find myself responding anyway. “I don’t know, but I’m glad they did,” I whisper. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t have my best friend.”
His tough exterior softens, a crooked grin breaking through the storm of emotions. “Me too. Let’s just hope Ryland doesn’t get sick of me and decide to get rid of me too.” He tries to play off the remark as a joke, but the underlying truth in that belief is undeniable.
It pierces through my heart like a rusty arrow. “Ryland wouldn’t do that to you.”
He ducks his head, his expression sobering. “Yeah, I know.”
“And I won’t either,” I add, wanting him to know that. “I’ll never leave you. You’ll always be my best friend.” Wrapping my arms around his neck, I reinforce that promise with a hug.
“Thanks, Elle,” he murmurs, returning my embrace, the warmth of our friendship held within.
An idea quickly forms, prompting me to pull back. “Do you have your pocketknife on you?”
His brows furrow in confusion. “Yeah, why?”
“Let me see it,” I request, holding out my hand.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls it out, handing it to me.
Taking the knife, I flip it open. “Let’s make a pact. No matter where we go in our lives, or who we end up with, we will stay best friends forever. Deal?”
Another smile lights up his face. “Deal.”
Taking the knife, I press the blade against my palm, wincing slightly at the sting before passing it over to Gunnar. He follows suit, carving a solemn cut into his own.
Then, hand in hand, we seal our friendship with a shared promise, our bond unbreakable, our hearts intertwined for an eternity.
A promise I will uphold forever.
Gunnar
Present Day
The pungent smell of oil penetrates my senses as I work under the hood of Mrs. Carlson’s Buick.
The clanging of tools and steady rhythm of classic rock serves as a backdrop to the banter behind me, where James animatedly recounts his weekend escapade with the stripper he met at a friend’s bachelor party.
“You’re so full of shit,” Mitch says, clearly skeptical of the story he’s being told.
“Am not,” the young apprentice bristles. “I’m seeing her again next weekend. She’s taking me out for my birthday.”
Gavin grunts doubtfully. “Where? Toys “R” Us?”
Laughter erupts behind me, blending with my own quiet chuckle as I tighten a bolt.