Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 88992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
“You’ll regret this. And, when you do, remember that someone hurt you. But that someone wasn’t me. What you see isn’t regret. It’s disappointment.”
That is a punch right to the … everywhere. A buckling knockout blow.
I want to … try for more with her. Why did I walk away?
Feeling like everything I want is out of my control makes me want to rage. I know that isn’t the emotional response that will fix anything—it’ll just add to the destruction in the end. That’s why I’m at Alfie’s and not on a quest to find Andrew Fucking Van. But this helplessness with this situation is overwhelming. How did someone like him, a semi-talented punk with more money than brains or talent, touch not just my professional life—because, in this world, that’s sadly understandable–but my personal life, too?
Why does he get to win?
“I want Doc, and I want her brother to stay out of it.” I grit my teeth. “And I want that asshole to be put in his place. That’d be a cherry on top.”
“Then make that happen.” He clamps a hand on my shoulder and then heads for the door. “I believe in ya, Brooksy.”
“Yeah, fuck you, Hart.”
“Better chance of me getting fucked than you by the sound of it.”
I launch a boxing glove at him, but it hits the door about an inch from his head as he pushes it open. His laughter is carried on a breeze back to me.
I start to clean up the gym so it’s ready for the afternoon classes, but Hartley’s words keep playing through my head. “Then make that happen.”
“There’s no way to make it happen.” My world slows down, almost to a full stop. “Woah, wait a minute …”
My phone dings from my bag, and I dig through it with a renewed energy I didn’t expect. I finally pull it out from my shorts pocket. Unknown Caller.
“Hello,” I say, shoving everything back into my bag.
“How does it feel to be the most hated man in Nashville?”
I flinch. “What? Who is this?”
“This is Audrey’s friend Gianna.”
“Oh, no,” I groan. This girl is a headache on a good day—and today is not a good day. “Can we do this later?”
“No, you fuckhead, we cannot. My best friend is on a plane right now to Boston—alone. Scared. Because—”
“Wait. Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait.” I scrub the top of my head with my fingernails. “She’s not going until tomorrow.”
“No. She went today because she didn’t want to stay here another night, and she didn’t want to go home alone.”
“Why is she scared?” I ask, my stomach somersaulting. “That’s news to me.”
“Did she tell you about Lewis Lemon?” Who the fuck is Lewis Lemon? And what parent thought naming their son Lewis with that surname was a solid idea?
“No.”
“You surely know the cut on her thigh.”
“I know every line on her body.”
“I’m sure you do. Well, Lewis Lemon, a stockbroker from New York, who our girl went on a date with once, did that.” The fuck what? “And last night, while she was here, that motherfucker was texting her, insistent that he’d be seeing her this weekend. And she’s terrified. Of him.”
A swell of fury rises inside me, and a panic rolls through my veins. Fuck. I did that.
I fumbled her.
“It’s really not a big deal. I was on a date with a guy and had a piece of string dangling from my dress, so he used a pocketknife to remove it. Yeah. See? No big deal.”
No big deal. I just accepted that explanation, figured we could come back to it another time.
But there won’t be another time because Andrew Van said so? My brow wrinkles as I shift my weight from one foot to the other.
No. I’ve beaten him in everything else in life. He’s not winning this battle.
I breathe in the scent of the gym, feel the ache in my shoulder, and the even bigger ache in my chest. I think about flying to Vegas, sitting down with Isaac, and hearing what he and Nick have to say. I consider listening to Otis scream in his carrier when I eventually move back to Vegas, how the city doesn’t get dark, and how I miss touching real Tennessee grass, and answering the phone when Mom calls because she visited the cemetery alone and she’s sad. And hearing Jasper’s stories of meeting up with old friends at Patsy’s, and the videos posted online from the festivals around town, and not being able to show up at Mom’s on a random Thursday because she made chicken noodle soup, and not going to church in the desert because Violet Crowder isn’t there to chase me out the door.
Things slow down inside my head. Helping Hartley fix fence posts in the sleet. Cathy packing me picnic baskets. Jasper eventually marrying Markie and me hoping I can arrange my schedule to stand next to him while she walks down the aisle.