Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87155 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87155 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
“That day? In the tree?”
His eyes lifted to mine. “I told you I wasn’t spying on you.”
I rocked back as guilt plowed into me with the speed of a runaway train. Ramsey’s mom might not have been dead, but we had both been at the tree that day mourning a life we would never get back. I’d spent every day since feeling utterly lost and alone, when in reality he had always been there, silently suffering right beside me.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Why would I tell you? You’ve hated me since the day we met. Calling me names. Dodging me every chance you get.” His lips tipped into a genuine smile so familiar that it eased the ache inside me. “You don’t even like me, Thea. So why on Earth would I tell you about my mom?”
His words might as well have been a rusty dagger for the way they slayed me.
I was a horrible person.
My father was probably still sitting on the floor by the door, crying after what I’d said to him. And now, Ramsey, the only person who gave a damn about me, was standing in front of me, thinking I didn’t care about him.
I was worse than horrible. I was horrible and cruel and selfish.
“Ramsey…” I trailed off without the first clue what to say. I’m sorry wasn’t enough. “I do like you.”
He shrugged. “I know you do. I figure you would have poisoned me by now if you didn’t.”
I choked out a laugh. “I’m really, really sorry.”
“Nah. Forget about it. I said some stuff about your mom too. And I’m sorry your dad sucks. I don’t really like to talk about it, either. So if we could just, ya know, forget this happened, that’d be great.”
I couldn’t forget though. Not after finding out how much Ramsey and I shared. But that wasn’t what he needed to hear at the moment. “Consider it forgotten.”
That time when he grinned, my heart skipped a beat.
“Listen,” he said, “I know we can’t outrun all of this stuff and hide forever, but if you want, I’ll always be around to help you try.” He turned, once again offering me a ride on his back. “But maybe, in the future, you can give me a warning about the hug thing.”
I didn’t quite understand it yet, and I wouldn’t for years to come, but in hindsight, that was the exact moment I fell in love with Ramsey Stewart.
I stood there staring at his back for several seconds. I didn’t deserve him. I would never deserve him, but I’d never wanted something so much in my entire life.
“Come on. Flutter up, Sparrow. We ain’t got all night.”
I didn’t hesitate another second before I dropped my crutches and hopped onto his back.
And because Ramsey wasn’t done shining his bright light onto my dark existence, I even smiled when he took the leash from my hand and gave it a gentle tug, asking, “You’re really going to make me call this dog Sir Hairy, aren’t you?”
To explain how I fell in love with Thea Hull, I’d need to go back to the beginning. Fair warning, this is not a story of hearts, flowers, and romance. That would all come later. But in the beginning, my love for Thea was born out of death, broken hearts, and desperation.
Coincidentally, that was also how it ended.
When I was eleven years old, my life was in shambles. My family had recently been evicted from our house. The one we’d lived in since I was born. It didn’t matter that the place was a piece of crap, essentially falling down around us. It was home. Or it had been until I got off the bus from school to find all of our belongings on the street corner.
We didn’t have much. My mom had pawned anything of worth months earlier trying to keep us afloat for a while longer. But I’d never forget as long as I lived the embarrassment heating my face as Nora and I were forced to dig through the piles to gather our clothes in garbage bags. My old “friends” stood around laughing and pointing, and after that, I wasn’t all that sad about moving anymore.
Maybe a fresh start was exactly what we needed.
It couldn’t hurt. It wasn’t like my parents could fight more than they already did. Sometimes they’d hurl insults with words. Other times it was with fists. Starting at about the age of nine, wrestling my dad off my mom had become a monthly activity. It hadn’t always been that way though.
Once upon a time, before he’d gotten his third DUI and lost his driver’s license, my dad had been a truck driver. It was nice when he was on the road. My mom would cook Nora and me grilled cheese sandwiches—her specialty—and then let us watch TV way past our bedtime. We didn’t have to be quiet for fear of pissing him off or tiptoe into the kitchen so he didn’t hear us getting a snack. Without him around to bitch and complain, my mom would get the phone, smoke cigarettes, and talk to one of her girlfriends for hours. I still remember looking over at her each time she’d laugh, her head thrown back, her mouth open, and her short, brown hair brushing her shoulders. I relished in the sound because it wasn’t one I got to hear often.