Total pages in book: 186
Estimated words: 176552 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 883(@200wpm)___ 706(@250wpm)___ 589(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 176552 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 883(@200wpm)___ 706(@250wpm)___ 589(@300wpm)
Funny, I’d almost said that same thing to Layla.
“Is that really fair of me to expect from you? You’ve got a life too.”
“You are my life.”
He didn’t say it like a tender confession. He declared it like a vow. A truth etched into his very being, as if he’d long ago accepted the cost of feeling that way. A flash of something unreadable crossed his face before he continued, his voice low and calm, yet charged with intensity.
“I don’t care about being fair, I care about you. If that means I drop everything any time you need me, then that’s exactly what I’ll do. You don’t get to question it. That’s just how it is.”
How could he say things like that so casually? So damn certain like it wasn’t shattering every fragile boundary I was pretending still existed. I looked away, reminded of the texts he’d sent. Of the way he’d been looking at me lately. Of the kiss, that we never brought up since it happened. We needed to talk. God, we really needed to have it out. But was it the right time? Was I supposed to cram whatever this was on top of everything else?
A pregnancy scare.
Assignments waiting in my bag that my GPA depended on.
My best friend looked like he was seconds from snapping someone’s neck.
A masked asshole popping up like a game of Guess Who, that just chased me down a sidewalk with their damn car. Yeah. Priorities were clearly spiraling. I glanced over at him, failing miserably to hide my amusement. “I’m your life, huh?”
He sighed like I was exhausting, shaking his head. “See? You love that I’m hopelessly devoted to you. I knew you appreciated the serenade.”
The memory came like a flash: him, back in high school, belting Hopelessly Devoted to You at full volume between classes every day for nearly two weeks. He got half the football team involved, turned the halls into a borderline musical, all because we watched Grease once and I cried. He knew exactly what I was remembering. That glint in his eyes gave him away, smug and so sure of himself. It made me want to shove him out of the car.
“Remember how red you used to get?”
“I remember mentally mapping out every nearby locker I could crawl into,” I retorted flatly. “I’m still not over it.”
“Liar.” He grinned. “You loved it.”
“I hated it. Me and the girls still have secondhand embarrassment and have chosen to bury the trauma. I was one hallway performance away from transferring schools.”
He laughed, eyes still fixed on the road. “I would’ve followed you.”
“Yeah, probably,” I agreed.
“Not probably. You wouldn’t be getting away from me that easily.”
There it was again, that thing in his voice. The quiet certainty made it impossible to pretend we were just joking.
“You did love it, though. Admit it.”
“I assure you, I did not.”
“You do. I have a beautiful voice, after all.”
I scoffed. “You’re so full of yourself.”
“Confident,” he corrected.
“And delusional.”
He glanced over, a beautiful smile curving into something that made my chest ache. “Still your favorite problem to have, though.”
“Unfortunately.”
We were both smiling now. Like we hadn’t been dancing around tension and heartbreak for months, as if he wasn’t talking about painfully killing someone on my behalf five minutes ago. He pulled into the small, mostly empty lot of Davie’s Drugstore, the neon sign lit above us.
As soon as Ryder put the truck into park, I unbuckled and reached for the door. “I’ll be quick.”
“You want me to come with?”
“No.” I paused just long enough to look at him. “Stay. I’ll be right back.”
“I want a candy bar.”
That wasn’t at all surprising. “Any preference?”
“Dealer’s choice. Surprise me.”
I shut the door behind me, sucking in a breath as the cold air assaulted me. The temperature had dropped fast. I hurried inside, the chime of the bell ringing overhead. A wave of pine and cinnamon welcomed me. The store was in full Halloween mode, orange and black everywhere, with a few lonely Thanksgiving decorations tucked between displays of fake blood and cobwebs.
Hunt merch had taken over half the front aisles. Cade wasn’t kidding. There were shirts, mugs, buttons, and even masks, all mixed in beside Crowsfell University memorabilia. I studied a few of the disguises, but none resembled what the two people I encountered wore. Moving on, I searched for where I needed to go, passing more décor and merch. Hemlock Heights never overshadowed holidays like the big-box stores. There was to be no early Christmas music. No frosted wreaths trying to edge out the skeletons. Everything was done accordingly.
I spotted an overhead sign for what I was looking for, and made a beeline for the back, keeping my head down as I passed a woman squinting at decorative hand soaps and a guy balancing at least ten bags of bulk candy like he was preparing for an apocalypse.