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 it’s probably true. I have been calling a lot less often. But shouldn’t she understand? I have a life up there at school. Friends. A community. And a sense of autonomy that, if I’m being honest, I don’t really have much of at all down here.
Still, it wouldn’t hurt to communicate. She worries about me. She just wants me safe and happy, right?
I take my soda right up to her. She turns to me just in time to receive my hug. She hugs back, though distractedly, too tangled in her own worries to grip tighter. “I’ll try to call you more often,” I promise her. “I really don’t mean to be a stranger. It’s just—”
“You’re busy, you’ve got a life, I know, sweetheart.”
The angle at which I’m hugging her, I have a perfect view of the upstairs landing. All the bedrooms. All the spare rooms we call guestrooms. The game rooms. Studies. Craft rooms. And space and space and more space.
My parents had dreams of filling all this space. So many sons and daughters. All of their kids, and someday, their kids’ kids. The in-laws staying for holidays. The nest never empty. This enormous space full of life and laughter any day of the year.
Now it’s just a big box of half-empty rooms.
Unfulfilled dreams.
And here’s me, their only pride and joy, and I’m gifted the big blessing and burden of all their crushing love.
“I’m just glad you’re home and safe,” she tells me, “and out of that god-awful storm.”
I’m out of the storm outside, that much is true.
But maybe I’ve found myself in a totally different one tonight.
A storm inside my chest that has no rain, at least not the kind you can touch that soaks your clothes. And as for thunder, well, my heart is generating plenty of that every time I think of him.
My secret storm called Chase Holt—one which I don’t think any matter of umbrella can hope to shield me from.
It’s sometime later after I’ve wished my mom a good night that I’ve changed out of my wet clothes into a tank top and shorts. I’m up in my room on the edge of my bed and just put my phone on the charger. It lights up with messages right away. Apparently, I missed a call and a text from AJ, who wants to catch up with me and see what’s going on. He probably still feels guilty about the road trip thing. Maybe it’s just my mood, but I’m almost ready to forgive him for everything. If it weren’t for his selfishness, I never would’ve met Austin, right?
Speaking of: a message from Austin asking me to call when I’m back home. Or should I start calling him Chase now?
He answers right away. “Made it back in one piece?”
“If you don’t count the one or two I left with you,” I answer.
He sighs contentedly into the phone. “I ain’t giving ‘em back.”
I chuckle, then glance at the window when it flashes, tears of rain running down the glass. “You on the road already?”
“Yep. But couldn’t sleep ‘til I knew you made it back.”
I smile. “That makes two of you. My mom stayed up waiting on me. I sorta scared her half to death ‘cause my phone died.”
“Said you should’ve called her before you left.”
“I know.” I lie back on my bed with my phone, its cord pulled over my chest from the wall charger. “I still can’t believe I made it out of there undetected.”
It was a bit of a heist in reverse. When we finished consuming each other in that musty dressing room—apparently we had thirty minutes on the dot, courtesy of the drummer, who is completely in on my existence—Austin poked his head out of the room, saw the coast was clear, and told me to follow him. We had four close-calls, causing me to have to duck behind a trashcan or slip behind a wall before finally reaching some side door. The rain did not let up one bit, but I assured Austin I’d be fine with a little wet jog around the building to the parking lot. He fought with me on it for a minute until the sound of footsteps forced us to make a move. I put a kiss on him, said something cheesy like, “Call you later, hot stuff,” and hurried out into the rain. I sorely underestimated how large the building was, taking me a full six minutes before I finally reached my car, got inside soaked down to the underwear, and enjoyed a blissful moment of wondering who the hell I was.
Who am I, really? What is this life I’m living lately?
I don’t recognize it at all.
“Where are you headed to now?” I ask.
“No idea the name. Starts with an H. I think. Let me just pull it up.” His fingers tap along on his screen. My phone buzzes with a notification. “Sent you a pin.”