Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 117415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
And my hand slips under my shorts.
Takes hold of me bare.
It could be him doing this. He’s right next to me, holding me in his arms—“So many paths to my heart,” he sings in my ear, draws an artful breath. “So many paths, why can’t you find a single one?”
God, and the way he strums that guitar, making it sing along with him, cry along with him, laugh along with him. “So many paths to my heart, but you took the one to my head …”
My hand moves, stroking, but not too fast. Chase Holt isn’t fast. He’s as smooth as a river you’ve known your whole life, water that’s carried you from childhood to adulthood, patient and wise. He’s the water that keeps you afloat, laughing and joyful, even as it rains. He’s the water you drink to stay alive.
“I could take your hand if that path ain’t clear enough … Guide you through my maze … Even if it’s just over a bridge … Or down a hall …”
“Or through my bedroom door …”
“See how easy that was?”
He grips me tighter, caressing my ear, stroking me.
“You’re in my head, oh, you’re in my head …”
“Playing with it to whatever end that path leads …”
“I think I could be okay with that, yeah, I could be okay with that …”
I’m stroking so fast. His voice is right there, kissing my ear. No walls, no rain, nothing in the way, just me and Chase Holt.
“At least some part of me belongs to you … my head or my heart …”
“And ain’t that just as satisfyin’?”
I’m close.
“Maybe even somethin’ like love …”
I pry the earbuds out and stop stroking, out of breath, staring up at my ceiling. The song is gone. His voice is gone. Only soft rain on the window as Spruce closes back in on me, bringing me back to my bedroom, to my bed, to the sounds of my catching breath.
I push my phone aside, turn over, and shut my eyes.
The world’s dry as a bone by morning. I eat breakfast at the counter by myself—just toast and a pair of eggs I scrambled up and tossed some hot sauce into. I watch our gardener Bella through the back window working her miracles, admiring how she makes digging through dirt and caressing flowers look like an art form, even when a stray thorn or prickly stem catches her. I wonder if all passions in life look like that, treated with such love that the whole rest of the world just vanishes.
Like spilling breathtaking fantasies from your fingertips to a sheet of clean blank paper with just a pencil in hand.
Or casting a beautiful melody through the rain and touching the soul of some loser sobbing his eyes out by a dumpster.
After I shower and change for the day, my mom catches me at the foot of the stairs. “Headed out?” she asks, sounding surprised. “Thought you might have some time to shadow your father today. I told him he could be expecting you. Did you see the office?”
She doesn’t mean to make choices for my life all the time. By now, it’s just sort of a habit, and I usually never resist. “Not yet,” I tell her, “but I did pass by a ledger in the upstairs study. Does Dad know something’s off in his March and April totals?”
She blinks. “They are? How’d you—”
“Just popped out. Totals don’t track with the columns beside them. Might want to double-check May, too. Anyway, I figured I’d go into town, say hi to some friends, maybe drop by T&S’s and see if they need help. Y’know, since I’m back early and all.”
It appears my mom already made plans with my earliness. “I see. Okay.” She masks the pinch of disappointment in her eyes with a tightened smile. “Alright, of course, your friends,” she then concedes, as if granting me permission. “They always miss you.”
“I’ll be back this afternoon,” I assure her, leaving. “Love you.”
She isn’t quite done. “Haven’t you … outgrown T&S’s?” I stop. “It’s just that I didn’t know you were planning to dabble there still. Billy’s certainly never short on help these days, always dozens of new kids from the high school putting in their applications every summer. And besides, a job is already here for you when you finish your …” She wags a hand in the air, as if collecting all of my university pleasures, relationships, friends, laughter, courses, professors, grades, independence, and Cheeto-snatching squirrels into one little dismissive gesture. “… schooling.”
I gotta be careful here. My mom loves me, but when it comes to the business, nothing gets in the way of her getting what she wants—even while wearing a smile. “I know.” I play it cool. “Pretty sure Billy’s drowning in applicants. But sometimes he stresses out because no one knows his customers like I do—and I have got mad scooping skills he’ll want me to impart on his new employees …”