Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 163089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 815(@200wpm)___ 652(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 815(@200wpm)___ 652(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
He places a hand on my chest, but he’s not pushing me away, and I like that. The feel of him just letting me touch him without tensing up or trying to wiggle free. “You’re just boring. I can’t get into your head.”
“Is that all?”
His eyes shift, looking cloudier, but then he releases a sole, “Hm.”
“Well, you can’t avoid me now.”
“Tant mieux (Good, I prefer it this way).”
“What’s that mean?”
“Unfortunately.”
“I’m starting to think you’re translating things wrong.”
“Shut up.”
I smile and ruffle his hair to which he grumbles. “Jokes aside, you don’t have to keep buying me things.”
“Not sure what you’re talking about. These are just necessities.”
“Fixing all the lights in our neighborhood is a necessity?”
“Hell yeah. It’s dangerous when you’re going home at night.”
“Worried about me?”
“Worried about June. She’ll be sad if something happens to you. Besides, that road is full of potholes.”
“Are you going to fix those, too?”
“Yup, working on it. Honestly, why are we paying taxes if they don’t use it to fill in potholes? Am I right?”
“You pay taxes, baby?”
“Probably? I mean, yeah. No clue how much, though.”
“Such a rich-boy statement.”
“Hey! I’m using my money for a good cause.”
My lips twitch because he sounds so sure of himself, chest puffed out and everything.
There’s a strand of hair that’s close to his eyes, and I tuck it behind his ear, making him shiver a little. “Is buying the auto shop I work at a good cause?”
“Yeah. Because that way, you can work on your own time and not according to someone else’s.”
“That makes you my boss now.”
“A better boss than your previous one. I’ll pay you more, and you can work less. You can even take a break whenever you wish. No notice needed.”
I chuckle and he watches me with parted lips. “That’s not how you run a business, my prince.”
“Don’t give a fuck. You want to finish the season strong, no? You need more free time to practice, and you can’t do that with a packed part-time job schedule.”
“While I’m thankful”—I grab him by the nape—“ you don’t have to do this. I was kidding about the sugar daddy thing.”
“I want to,” he murmurs, his eyes staring deep into mine as he presses his gloved hand against my chest further. “Let me try to help, okay? It’s the only thing I can do for you.”
Before I can say “It’s not,” he kisses me, his lips grazing mine softly as if he’s tasting me for the very first time.
Now, I know why he kissed me that time—to shut me up, probably. To stop me from asking questions I should’ve asked so that he wouldn’t be in that room.
The men Kane called pry Jude off me. They grab my arms and try to escort me out, but I said I’m not leaving, and I’m not fucking leaving.
I hit, punch, and slam my head against them for what seems like forever.
Preston needs me.
Preston would want to see me.
I told him I was here for him, and I won’t go anywhere.
The operating room’s door slides open, and I come to a halt, barely feeling the men clutching me by the arms.
A doctor walks out, looking like he came straight from a battleground. And as he removes his cap, revealing damp gray hair, I hold my breath.
Jude and Kane rush toward him, and Lawrence follows close behind.
“How is he?” Jude asks in a thick, low voice.
The doctor stares at Lawrence and bows his head. “We tried our best, but he lost a lot of blood. My condolences, sir.”
No.
No.
Fuck no.
I’m hearing things.
Preston will get up. I’ll take him. We’ll leave.
That’s how it’ll be. That’s how it’ll only ever fucking be.
“What the fuck!” Jude wrenches the doctor by the collar. “What do you mean by ‘condolences’? Go in there and bring him the fuck back!”
“You’re lying.” I sound like an animal as I jerk against the grip of the men. “This is a fucking lie!”
He will get up.
I will take him.
We will leave.
Another two men join the previous ones, and I shout and fight as they drag me out with them.
Taking me away from Preston.
No.
This is only temporary. It can only ever be temporary.
He will get up.
I will take him.
We will leave.
It wasn’t temporary.
Preston didn’t get up.
I watched, completely numb, as his closed casket was buried in the ground, as everyone in his family treated the funeral like a networking event.
An opportunity to show off the Armstrongs’ wealth and prestige while inviting members of their community to mourn with them.
The only one who cried from his family was Miley, hugging his casket and weeping. “Pressie, it’s not true, right? You’ll come back, and we’ll go skating, right? I’ll save you my pastries until you come back, Pressie, okay?”
But even she was removed by her mother before I could get to her. And maybe it’s better that I didn’t.