Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 80689 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80689 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
“This definitely wasn’t on my wish list,” I say, eyeing my present suspiciously.
“I know,” he says, his mischievous grin expanding.
Might as well get this over with, so I tear open the paper. It’s a case holding a black pen that looks really nice.
As my gaze shifts to him, his eyes are right on me. He must’ve seen when Jonas bought me that journal…or when he was wrapping it. It’s another power play, a reminder that he’s always watching.
We stare each other down, communicating much more than we can with words.
“It’s a Mikimoto ballpoint pen,” he says. “You used to love to journal, so I thought you might like it.”
“You know I don’t journal anymore. I don’t even have one.” He winces ever so slightly, and now I’m the one smirking because we both fucking know the truth, and it must drive him wild knowing I’m looking him right in the eyes and lying my ass off.
There’s a fury in my spirit, all my hate directed at him, taking my thoughts back to a moment I’ll never forget: “It’s always been you, Ryan,” Kieran says.
Always been me?
As he leans close, I think about how I could take his lips that I’ve always wanted, feel his familiar warmth against me. Not because I want him, but to get back at Simon. To make him suffer as he’s made me suffer.
I’m so fucking mad, I can’t even think straight.
All I want is revenge. Wild, sick revenge. Don’t I deserve that?
Normally I would push the black part of my spirit aside, but tonight, I summon it, call upon it like a sick power lurking within me.
I lean toward Simon, fork a slice of some of the leftover steak on his dinner plate, and slide it into my mouth. He knows I hate rare steak, and if he was frustrated at the start of this meal, I can tell by how his fingers curl against the table that he’s about to explode.
After I swallow, I say, “Mmm…tasty.”
His nostrils flare; it’s clear those words dug the knife in, so I aim for a sharp twist, adding, “Happy birthday, twinsie,” before lunging toward him and kissing his cheek.
24
JONAS
The birthday sex I gave Ryan last night has me whistling throughout the day. I can’t fucking help myself.
I was eager to give him that journal, but I didn’t know he’d have such a powerful reaction to such a simple gift—one I was almost embarrassed to get for him, thinking he might find it stupid or corny…or much worse, insensitive. But it’s clear he took it in the spirit I’d intended.
Despite how pleased I am with how it went over, I’m nervous.
Simon requested to meet with me today, and I’m worried it might have been too good of a gift. We’re being too obvious. What if he picks up that this isn’t fake for me?
After Forsyth saw what we were up to, I’ve just let my feelings hang out. There’s a certain freedom in knowing we don’t have anything to hide. But it’s more than that. I like that it’s not just our secret. Somehow, others knowing makes it feel more real, and Ryan doesn’t mind me kissing him in the shed or the yard, anywhere and in front of anyone, and I don’t care either.
But all these good feelings, this magic Ryan and I share, it leaves me feeling like the rug’s about to be torn out from under me.
I have some time before I need to meet with Simon, and it’s late enough that Charity should be finished with chemo for the day, so I try to FaceTime her. Chemo’s been really tough on her recently, so I’m hoping I can cheer her up a bit, but she doesn’t pick up.
I try Aunt Amy next.
“Hi,” she answers, and I can tell by her tone and the tension in her expression that something’s up.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
“It’s not a big thing. Charity has a fever and a little cough. They’re running a test now to see if it’s COVID or the flu. I didn’t want to call you until we had more information, but they’re stopping treatment until whatever it is passes, so she can get better.”
Fuck. The chemo was hard enough on her without this shit rearing its head.
“I want to talk to her.”
“She’s sleeping right now. She’s exhausted.”
“Are you able to see her?”
“They’re still trying to work that out. From what they’ve said so far, sounds like I may just have to mask up, and then I’ll be able to see her a few times a day until she’s recovered.”
“I should be there,” I blurt out.
Aunt Amy sighs. “I’m sure she would love to see you in person, but even if you can’t get off right now, maybe you can plant the seed in your boss’s head? So you can come when she gets better?”