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)
Gossip spreads.
Then boom, our big-ass secret is out there, Timothy’s safety is compromised, and there’ll be nothing I can do to stop it.
Timothy … TJ.
How can I protect you if this thing between us spins out of my control?
Suddenly he grips me. I’m pulled out of my head, zeroing in on his face.
“Don’t,” he orders me.
I blink. “Don’t what?”
“Spiral again.”
“I ain’t spiral—”
“Yeah, you are.” He takes me by the chin, surprising me, then gets even closer. “You’re trying to talk yourself out of this. Afraid I’ll get hurt. Not wanting to hide me. You’re convinced I’m the one in danger for being with you. But tell me, do I look afraid?”
I can’t look away from his eyes.
This boy from Spruce, this cutie who went and body-slammed my life from out of nowhere, he’s got my full attention, every bit of it, and no matter what I do, he won’t let me go.
It’s the first time in my life I don’t want to be let go.
I want him to cling. To claim me. To insist I’m all his.
“Did you ever consider,” he asks with a tilt of his head, “that maybe you’re the one here who needs protecting?”
Chapter 13.
Timothy—or TJ
The rain hasn’t stopped.
I don’t mind suddenly.
I’m in the car driving back to Spruce, wet as a dog, with the biggest smile stretched over my face.
I got him back. Austin. Chase. It doesn’t matter his name. It’s the person behind the name. Aren’t we all in so many ways just people living behind names? Why should I be so ashamed of mine? Why should he resent his? I’ll call him Austin, call him Chase, call him Love, whatever tugs on his heart, whatever grounds him.
And he can call me TJ.
And I won’t be the boy I used to associate with that name, too clueless about the world to know right from wrong.
The sky flashes and the booms roll over the countryside and the clouds dump dirty rainwater all over my windshield as I drive down this long, dark stretch of highway, and I can’t feel more free.
What an amazing turn this whole day has taken. From despair and abandonment to Austin on a stage serenading me. Then the adventure of his drummer seeking me out after the show with a finger to his lips, dragging me through the door into the backstage area, and depositing me in his dressing room where he said, and I quote, “Seriously, if you can flip Chase’s mood around, that’d be great, because the poor guy’s been a miserable bag of dirt all day.”
He didn’t want to leave me in the hotel.
He felt like he had to.
And now that I’ve got the full picture—or at least a bigger one than I was clinging to before—I can understand him.
He doesn’t have to deny himself anymore.
And neither do I.
Just thinking that fact has me giddy. Totally and utterly giddy to the point that I could laugh at the terrifying thunderstorm I’m in the center of tonight. It’s possibly the most beautiful storm I’ve ever seen. Better than the one at the Horseshoe when I thought Austin was just a fan unlucky enough to find me in a hallway.
That was Chase Holt I was dumping my life onto. Even back then. Chase Holt, just before his show, taking the time to listen to someone he didn’t even know, to comfort me however he could. What a gentleman.
And then to follow up by finding me in my hometown?
I almost cringe, thinking of how awful I was that first time we met and he bonked his head on the lamppost. I laugh again just thinking of it, overwhelmed with the feelings bursting inside me as I realize how much patience he must’ve exercised to stay with me while I bandaged him up at T&S’s.
Of course I fascinated him.
He’d never been talked to like that before.
But what he didn’t seem to realize at the time was how much he fascinated me, too. And he continues to do so, showing himself to me in so many broken, incomplete facets. I want to learn more. I want to know everything about him. I want to understand him.
The real Chase Holt.
The real Austin Love.
Yeah, I still think he bullshitted his last name. There’s no way on this planet that that’s his real name. Come on, now.
It’s still storming by the time my house comes into view. I pull into my driveway and snake under the covered part with the side door into the kitchen. I don’t know of anything important going on tomorrow, so I leave my car parked here, kick my shoes off on the mat outside, and head in.
I didn’t expect to find my mom right there at the counter with her phone. “TJ!” she shouts, out of breath.
I stop short. “Mom, hey! I didn’t expect—”