Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Jesus fucking Christ. He’s putting everything together. No matter how far under the radar I try to fly, North’s like a goddamn Sherlock Holmes, and he’s laying it all out there for everyone to hear. I glance at King, the only person on this team who knows the truth of what happened all those years ago, but he looks shocked to hear North’s allegations. I can only surmise he’s kept my secret and North is throwing spaghetti at the wall, hoping something sticks.
And now I’m dangerously close to losing my shit because the one thing I cannot handle right now is for everyone to know my past.
“You heard me,” North taunts, stepping in closer. “Is this about that kid? Is that why McLendon hates you? Is that why you’re acting like a goddamn hermit?”
My vision goes black for a second and I seem to lose sense of time and place. I’ve got no control over my body and I don’t intend my actions, but I find myself leaping toward North so fast, neither he nor Rafferty can react. I shove North as hard as I can and he goes flying, arms windmilling to try to regain his balance. He’d go down too if it weren’t for Atlas at his back, catching him before he hits the ground.
“Mind your own fucking business, North!” I yell, so loud that everyone turns to look at me. I can’t seem to control my words and they feel liberating to let them loose. “Or so help me God, I will kill you.”
I hear several gasps, chokes of disbelief, and someone yells, “What the fuck, dude?”
The threat should have been enough to end the discussion, but North seems angrier than ever. He leans forward, snarling. “You think I haven’t tried? You’re my teammate, Penn. We care about you, but you’re making it real hard to have your back when you keep shutting us out.”
He cares about me? I can’t help but scoff at the notion and it’s so ridiculous that I turn on my heel and move toward the line forming to board the plane.
“Penn.”
I spin, still willing to toss a punch to get these fuckers to leave me alone. Instead, I find Atlas there, holding my duffel I’d dropped to the floor. He doesn’t look angry or riled up—just assessing me, like he’s trying to solve a puzzle.
“What the hell is going on?” he asks, holding out my bag.
I yank the duffel from his grip. “Nothing.”
Atlas doesn’t look convinced. “Bullshit. You just attacked one of your own teammates. That’s not cool.”
“Stay out of it.”
Atlas holds my gaze, unwavering. “No. I know something’s been eating you alive since the moment you got here.” His voice lowers. “Maybe it’s time to let someone in.”
I let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Yeah? You volunteering?”
His expression doesn’t change. “Yeah, I am.”
Something ugly and cynical unfurls in my chest. I don’t have time and certainly not the energy to explain to him all the ways that team camaraderie, loyalty and devotion are nothing but a crock of shit. “Just leave me alone, okay?”
Atlas doesn’t reply. He watches as I shoulder my bag and head for the jet bridge. He doesn’t know me. None of them do. And that’s how I want it.
I approach my usual seat on the team plane, shoving my duffel into the overhead bin before collapsing into the chair nearest the window. No one ever sits in the one beside me because I’ve been very good at keeping my walls up so high, no one even tries for polite conversation anymore. I slip my headphones on, pulling up my playlist and hitting play on a heavy metal track with punishing drums and aggressive riffs. It matches my dark mood.
I need to drown out my thoughts so I close my eyes, leaning my head back against the cushion. I try to fall into a void where everything is black and blank, without any meaning.
It doesn’t work though because the second I close my eyes, I see her. Small frame, hunched shoulders, standing at the locked gates at the end of my driveway.
I’d been sitting at home last night, surfing the internet and catching up on the news when my phone buzzed, the notification lighting up my screen. Gate Camera—Motion Detected.
I tapped the alert and saw a small dark crossover SUV idling there with the window up. The glare from gate lighting prevented me from seeing who was inside, but then the door opened and she stepped out.
Mila.
She walked up to the security pad and studied it. It has a CALL button, but she didn’t push it. Instead, she lifted her face and looked right up at the security camera mounted on top of the twelve-foot stone column where the left gate hinges.
I haven’t seen her in a decade, but there was no mistaking her. She’s not fifteen anymore. She’s… beautiful, eyes darting back to the box as she wrung her hands together. She looked around and no doubt she was nervous.