Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 147545 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 738(@200wpm)___ 590(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147545 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 738(@200wpm)___ 590(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
I glance over at him, sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at his own phone. “Hey, is my phone on your family plan by chance?”
He shakes his head. “I pay for my own line. You’re on my plan now, but no one else is on it.”
“So your parents can’t like… you don’t have any shared devices they can use to locate you?”
“Nope.”
“And you didn’t pay for this room with their credit card, right?”
He shakes his head. “I gained access to my trust fund on my eighteenth birthday. I have my own money and my own credit card.”
Speaking of money, I was supposed to work the closing shift today.
I won’t be able to, and I won’t be able to tell them once I’m in custody, so I should handle this now. Besides, it will be easier to find someone to cover my shift with more notice.
I start a text message to my manager and type out, “Hey! It’s Cassie. Super sorry for the short notice, but I can’t work my shift tonight. Can you please find someone to cover it? Sorry, I would arrange it myself, but there’s been a family emergency and I can’t.”
I don’t wait for a response. They have notice, so I’ve done what I can.
Once my mind is more or less at ease regarding my responsibilities, I power my phone off—just to be safe.
Tor packs up our few things while I enjoy my last peaceful shower, so when I get out, all I have to do is grab my overnight bag and purse and follow him out.
We drove to the motel separately, so we drive separately over to Holroyd’s Family Restaurant, too. It’s close enough that we could walk, but I’m hyperaware of the countdown happening in the background of my day, so I’d rather save the five minutes and just drive over.
My mouth waters when we enter the restaurant and I catch the scent of coffee brewing and delicious, buttery pancakes. But then I feel people staring, and it occurs to me that my cell phone isn’t the real threat here. In a small town like Holbrook, being so visible (especially considering who I’m here with) probably increases the likelihood of someone sharing my location, if for no reason other than to gossip.
Seeming to notice the same thing, Tor asks the hostess, “Can we get a booth in the back corner? Away from the main dining area would be nice. We’d love a little privacy.”
“Got it,” she says, grabbing two menus as she comes around the counter. “I’m so sorry to hear about your brother. He was such a great guy,” she says, her big, brown eyes full of sympathy and focused singularly on Tor, as if I’m not standing here beside him.
“Thanks, I appreciate it,” he says, as expected, with an appropriately somber nod.
I side-eye him, but I know that’s one massive difference between me and every member of the Walters family—they’ll play their parts, even if they don’t fucking mean it.
I’m more honest than they are, and boy, do people not like that.
Tor’s hand finds my hip in a casual, supportive touch. It’s like he can feel my frustration, and he wants to ground me, to remind me he is on my side, he’s just keeping up appearances.
I don’t like keeping up appearances.
I want the appearance to be how something really is. I want the truth to be visible.
By the time we’re seated, I’m lost in a familiar cycle of frustration, but unlike usual, I have the source of it sitting right across from me. “Can I ask you something?”
His eyebrows rise slightly, and he nods. “Of course.”
“How do you do that?”
“Do what?”
I struggle to find the words, especially ones that aren’t openly hostile. “Be so full of shit?”
He cocks his head, his eyebrows rising even higher.
I grimace.
I was going for not hostile, but I missed.
Tor smirks at my facial expression, but he’s not easily offended, so my question doesn’t really bother him. I think he’s just deciding how to answer it. “You know how you were raised to follow the rules, so that comes naturally to you?”
I nod.
“I wasn’t. I was raised to put forward a certain image, and as long as that image is solid, I can do pretty much whatever I want behind the curtain. People tend to see what they want to see, so if you do your part to project the right image, people will generally believe it—even if you’re full of shit. It doesn’t matter if you’re full of shit. Most people don’t want to know if you’re full of shit.” He leans forward, elbows on the table, as if telling me a secret. “Most people want you to lie to them.”
I shake my head, rejecting that with every fiber of my being. “I don’t.”
“I know.” He leans back. “You’re not most people. You’re the smartest kid in your class, the one who would do the assigned homework even if you knew the teacher wasn’t checking. But do you know why people hate the smartest kid in class? Because they fuck up the curve everyone else is graded on. If you weren’t there, a shining example of maximum effort, the bar would be lower for everyone else. People like low bars, Cassie. People don’t like doing their best.”