Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 82415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
His expression twists up. “I’ve read the pages. I know what you’re supposed to do.”
My cheeks warm. This is so fucking embarrassing. Because even though he’s totally off about what’s going on here, he knows what I’m gonna have to work myself into doing, whether I like it or not.
“You’ll have to receive someone,” he says, emphasizing the phrasing in the notebook, “in all these ways. Dude, you’re not even queer, are you?”
“That’s not what it’s about. For whatever reason, the Saints discovered it’s more effective if…”
“Who the hell are the Saints?”
Oops. That slip is only gonna fuel his sex-cult theory.
His eyes are wide as he says, “Are you listening to yourself right now? Whatever Preston and his friends told you, it’s gotten into your head…and, Alexei, nothing can be worth going through all that.”
His words sting at a tender wound. “Nothing?” I snap. “That just shows how little you know me.” I bite my lip, regretting my outburst, but it’s the truth.
Matteo’s shoulders relax. His expression softens. “Then explain it to me.” His words are gentle, and he waits for my reply. Like he’s willing to listen and stop going off about his wild theories. Although, I guess maybe not as wild as the truth. After a few moments without a response, he says, “Why do you need that…spell…or whatever it is?”
I should just tell him to fuck off and then walk out the door. Not sure what it is…
Maybe because I’m tired of secrets and lies.
Maybe because it’s all I can think about right now.
Maybe because I think Matteo’s a good guy who might understand.
I find myself saying, “My brother.”
The words come out so softly, I wonder if he even heard me, but a subtle shift in his expression, in the way he looks at me, assures me he caught it.
Just saying that much is a weight off my chest, so I just confess. “His name’s Nick. He’s two years older. He’s my best friend, my protector.”
Bringing him up always evokes memories—his smile; thoughtful moments, from making sure to grab me a Snickers bar or ice cream from the store to picking me up when my crap first car broke down.
I fight to push them back. “Four years ago, he was starting at the community college in our hometown, outside Chicago. He was hoping to get good enough grades to get a scholarship here. We texted and talked every day, even on October twelfth, the day he went missing.”
“Oh God, Alexei. I’m so sorry.” There’s something so soothing about his words and his gentle gaze. This isn’t something I like talking to anyone about, but…Matteo’s easy to share this with.
“He worked at a local bakery, and he went to work one evening but never came home. From what we found out, he was at work that night. People saw him right up until close. A guy who owned a shop down the street even waved to him as he was heading out. But something happened on his way home.” My chest constricts, and a tear escapes my eye. “We’ve never had answers. Just more questions. They found his car about twenty miles outside of town. But no Nick.” I bat at my eyes with the back of my hand. Fuck, that’s enough. “So don’t tell me nothing can be worth this because I know it is. You have no idea what it’s like not knowing. I’d do worse than what’s in those stupid pages to know the truth.”
He opens his mouth like he’s about to say something but then shuts it just as quickly. “I’m so sorry, Alexei.”
“Just remember that next time you make assumptions about someone.” I spit that out, some rage, not just at him, but the world. There’s a weight off, but now I’m starting to wonder if I shared too much. I don’t even know this guy. Why did I tell him all that? Although, the way I’ve kept it bottled up for so long, I shouldn’t be surprised at how it all came flooding out.
“I should go.” I grab my bag and start for the door when I feel his hand on my shoulder.
It’s not a threatening touch. It’s gentle. Warm.
I turn back to him, and our gazes lock.
“Alexei, I’m sorry. That sounds like a nightmare, and I don’t judge you for being willing to do anything for answers. But please tell me you can see this from my perspective. If you were in my shoes, knowing what I know, wouldn’t you want to help someone you thought might be in trouble?”
Nearly as quickly as he raised my defenses, he cuts right through them.
“Please,” he adds. “Whatever you’re going through, you don’t have to do this alone.”
I’m still annoyed he thinks I’m in a sex cult, but I see his point. Other people might have just assumed I was in a cult and left me to deal with it on my own. If I were in his shoes, I like to think I’d be a big enough man to try and help him too. That even if he pushed like I have, I’d keep on trying.