Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 77287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter. “So whoever this guy is, he knew your guys’ father?”
Wes peeks out from the edge of the hallway, a very concerned look on his face. “If he knew our father, then we can’t take his threats lightly.”
“Fuck. Fuck this shit,” I say under my breath.
I’ve never been happier that I have zero relation to that side of Niko’s family.
Weston’s father was a terrible person, and it’s clear that Niko is right. This stranger had some association with that evil prick.
“Sev,” Niko says. “You don’t think Kieran is… working with whoever this stranger is, do you?”
“Can you both please clue me in on what the hell is going down?” Wes protests.
I nod solemnly. “I’ll tell you on the drive back, Weston. Niko, I’m going to ride back to campus with Wes, understand?”
“Fine with me.”
I run my fingers through my hair. “We’re going to eat these cinnamon rolls and pretend everything is okay when my mom gets home. Period. End of story. I don’t need her worrying about me when she’s got her own shit. Then we’re going to go back to campus and fix shit, so that frat wars never fucking happen again.”
They agree, and as Wes walks over toward the kitchen counter, I let myself run my palm along his back, trying to comfort him even though I know he’s confused.
Niko can’t see me doing it from this angle, but even if he did, I wouldn’t give a shit.
I need to touch him, right now.
Because he needs to know everything is okay, and maybe I fucking do, too.
Breakfast is a blur.
Mom is sweet, like she always is. I try to hold in my anger, but inside I feel like I’m constantly two seconds away from snapping.
Wes touches my thigh under the breakfast table, though, and it’s a tiny reminder that there’s at least one thing I don’t hate right now.
Fancy that.
The person who used to be the biggest problem is now the only one who can keep me sane.
I retrieve my grandfather’s watch for Wes before we go. He slides it on and it fits him well, and all I want to do is go back to last night and freeze time there.
I liked spending the night with someone.
Without even having sex.
And I’d probably feel a lot weirder about that if I didn’t have a fucking fire to put out back on campus right now.
We all pack up and I tell Mom that she has to call me anytime she’s feeling even slightly lonely. But I trust her, now. I trust that things are better for her. If I were to be expelled from Crimson College, that would seriously disappoint her, but… I’m not going to let that happen.
“Good luck on your project, sweetheart,” she tells me as she hugs me outside. “I know you’re going to get first place. You’re good at building cars, big or small.”
After everyone says their goodbyes, I slide into the driver’s side of my Mustang and Weston gets into the passenger seat.
“What project is she talking about?”
“Hm?” I ask. “Oh. It’s a dumb engineering competition. I’m making a small air-powered little car.”
“That sounds cool.”
“It’s nothing. My advanced mech professor pushed me to enter the competition, but it’s a pain in my ass, honestly.”
“Is there going to be a prize?”
“We have to present our projects on stage, and there will be judges. Like I said, I don’t really care.”
His eyes widen a little, though, when I glance over at him after putting the key in the ignition.
“I want to go watch the competition,” he says. “Whenever it happens. I’m sure all the guys would love to see what you built.”
“It’s boring shit, Wes. Trust me. And I’m pretty sure your Onyx friends aren’t going to want anything to do with me after what happened.”
As we start the drive, I tell Weston everything Kieran texted me.
He’s just as concerned as I am. Maybe more.
For some reason Wes seems to think this is his fault, even though it has nothing to do with him, and he does that thing where he acts like he has to be the one to swoop in and handle it for everyone else.
We’re silent for a while near the end of the trip, listening to the low sound of the radio in the car.
“I don’t want anyone getting hurt anymore,” Wes says when we’re easing off the highway and close to campus.
“I know you don’t. And no one will be hurt. Okay?”
He doesn’t seem convinced. I pull up to a red light and glance over at him.
“I hope so,” he says softly.
It pains me to see that look on his face.
The somber expression that I used to always think was a detached smugness doesn’t seem anything like that to me, now.
I know Weston’s trauma better now.
I know that all he wants is peace.