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)
“Did I imagine it, or was that Marcus?”
“This is because you were being reckless by burning his bike, wasn’t it?”
“Why are your eyes blown up like that—Preston Aaron Armstrong! Did you take those drugs without telling me?”
Blah, blah, blah.
All I keep thinking about is that moment of peace when my lips met Marcus’s.
And how much I need that again.
Even if it hurts.
19
PRESTON
“Are you really not going to tell us what the fuck happened three days ago?”
I steal the puck from Jude, who just spoke, skate away with supersonic speed, and score.
Kane, Jude, and I are doing our usual nighttime practice in the rink, now that they finally realized the importance of my highness.
Only, something’s different tonight.
Kane and Jude watch me from the middle of the rink like hawks as I glide backward, then mimic a commentator’s voice. “Armstrong does it again!”
I point my stick at them. “This is the part where you make some noise, peasants.”
They’re both wearing those annoying frowns, and I pout. “No one appreciates Preston enough. I’m telling you, bitches, I’m getting new friends. Will ask my minion Hayes to put out feelers right away.”
“You can’t deflect forever.” Kane glides toward me. “We need to know what happened that night.”
“No, you don’t.” I skate to Jude’s side and wrap an arm around his shoulders. “You don’t see us throwing a bitch fit over your disappearance from the team in your quest to chase Destiny.”
“Her name is Dahlia. And I didn’t hide the facts from you, did I?”
“Don’t care. You abandoned us, and I spent nights on end crying into my pillow. Isn’t that right, Jude?”
My best friend’s frown only deepens as he watches me. It’s far from ideal, considering he’s been giving me that look faster than I can blink lately.
“Kane is right,” Jude says. “You were completely off that night. Not only did you take those meds without telling me beforehand—”
“You were busy stalking Sleeping Beauty, so I didn’t think you could spare a moment for your lord and savior—me.”
His lips part, and a look of guilt passes over his face, his shoulders tightening beneath my grip.
And now, I want to kick myself in the balls for being such a dick. I mean, yeah, sure, both Jude and Kane have been busy lately. And Jude is a bit too preoccupied with exacting revenge for his mother and stalking this comatose girl—Viola, I think—who should be on Jude’s list, but he somehow isn’t killing her, so he hasn’t been nagging much about my meds.
Yes, that made me a bit sloppy, and no, it’s not his fault—it’s mine. I’m the fuckup in this friendship, not them.
And making them feel guilty for not stopping my mind from sabotaging itself is just not it.
Do better, asshole brain.
“I always have time for you.” Jude grabs both my shoulders. “You know that, right?”
“Ew, don’t give me diabetes.”
“Preston,” he says with a bit of force in his tone as he repeats, “you know that, right?”
“Yeah, just shoo. I’m allergic to cringe.”
He lets out a breath, then releases me. “Are you really not going to tell us what the fuck happened?”
Kane skates to our side, toying with his stick. “We need to know the full story to be able to take care of it.”
“It was really nothing.” I lean against my stick, speaking in my humorous tone. “Got drunk and high, which is not recommended, by the way—kids, don’t do this at home. Then I somehow spilled the bottle of alcohol as I was commemorating Mom’s death anniversary and fighting my demons—I won, incidentally. I might have had a lighter in my hand, and I could have possibly played with it, and boom! Fireworks! But I left the car in time, because I was lucid enough to know I was in danger.”
Lie.
Liar.
Would’ve totally detonated along with the car if Marcus hadn’t pulled me out. Just a fraction of a second later and I would’ve followed my mom all the way down the abyss.
My chest squeezes at the memory of Marcus.
This shit is really serious. First, it was my dick that had a malfunction because of him, and now, it’s my chest?
This needs Dr. Duret’s special black book that she scribbles in all the time. Yesterday, she said, “Don’t you think you’re brave for surviving another anniversary?”
And hell yeah, I am. Because listen up, I always want to follow the ghost of my mom to the abyss on that day. Always.
Not this year, though.
For the first time, I thought to my genius self, Why do I have to die just to ask her a few questions?
Mom abandoned me right after she complained nonstop about how Dad abandoned us. At the end of the day, he’s the one who stayed, and she chose to leave me.
So why do I have to be in pain over it all these years later?