Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 48306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 242(@200wpm)___ 193(@250wpm)___ 161(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 242(@200wpm)___ 193(@250wpm)___ 161(@300wpm)
“Heeeeey,” Waverly slurs back.
There’re some more words, and then I hear her again.
“No, I’m okay. Nooooo, seriously. I don’t want more drinks,” she giggles.
“Nah, have this last one then!”
I stiffen. The guy’s voice is Ian Cavanaugh.
“I am so drunk.”
Ian laughs.
“Even better! Drink up, babe!”
Fire is blazing in my fucking veins, and I’m gripping the countertop like I might snap the marble with my bare hands.
“This tastes funny.”
Everything goes still as I freeze.
In the background, I hear guys voices—maybe two of them, and the sound of someone snickering.
“Nah, just drink it.”
“I don’t wanna,” Waverly slurs.
“C’mon!” another guy’s voice says. “Loosen up, beautiful!”
There’s the sound of cheering and then there’s Ian’s voice again.
“Yeah! There you go, Waverly! Chug!”
“Waverly,” I growl into the phone. I hear her coughing and then groaning as she brings the phone back to her face.
“Waverly?”
“You’re still there!” She giggles. “I’m so glad. That drink did noooot taste good. It tasted funny.”
There’s a ringing in my ears as my jaw clenches hard.
“Get a cab—fuck it, I’m calling you one.”
“Noooo, that’s okay,” she mumbles. “I am sooooo sleepy.”
Fuck. Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck.
I’m yanking my shirt on and grabbing my keys as I storm back to the garage.
“Waverly, stay on the fucking phone,” I growl.
“I am so sleeeeepy though!” She sighs. “Isss cool. I don’t need cab. I’m gonna…” she sighs. “I’m just gonna sleep right here.”
“Waverly.”
There’s no answer.
“WAVERLY!” I roar as I charge into the garage and yank open the door to my Land Rover. The engine bellows to life, and I’m about to hang up when I hear voices again.
Two guys’ voices.
“Bro, she is out, man!”
I snarl, pushing the button for the garage door, and I’m about to gun it in reverse, when I hear the guy say something that chills me to my core.
“Perfect.”
I almost take out the garage door and blast down the driveway and out into the night. I flash back to the pool, and Waverly telling me about the party at…
I frown before I remember.
The Manning’s house. And I know where that is. The Land Rover thunders under me as I floor it, not stopping for a goddamn thing. Thankfully, Southworth is basically empty this time of night, because I blast through every stop sign and red light I hit before I get to the Manning’s huge, sprawling mansion. I screech up the driveway until I’m blocked by all the cars from the kids at the party, where I get out and start running, my ears ringing and my pulse racing.
I see movement, around the back corner of the house, and I frown as I stop and squint into the shadows. It’s two shapes—people—who look like they’re carrying another shape—another person—between them.
Mother. FUCKERS.
They’re moving away from the main house over around the backyard pool to what looks like a pool house of some kind, and I run after them until I come barreling around the corner of the house and roar at them.
“The fuck is going on here!?” I bellow. The two of them jump, half-dropping the shape between them as I whirl.
“Coach?!”
Ian Cavanaugh’s face is white, his eyes wide as he stares at me in fear.
“Wh—what are you—”
“I asked you what the fuck is going—”
My eyes slide back to the shape, and as the other kid moves out of the way and light falls over her face, I stiffen.
It’s Waverly, looking completely passed out.
Slowly, my eyes slide back to Ian, and then to other equally terrified looking shitstain.
“Answer my fucking question, Ian,” I hiss dangerously, stepping towards him.
“Coach, I just…” he swallows. “Coach, what are you doing at this—”
“ANSWER ME!!” I roar like the goddamn devil himself, the two guys half jumping in the air in shock.
“She’s sick!” the other guy blurts out. “Yeah, she’s, uh, she’s not feeling good, and we’ve got a spare bed in the pool—”
“Scott Manning,” I growl at the kid, who pales even whiter as he nods in this terrified way.
“Uh, we’re just…” Ian’s shaking.
“We were just bringing her to bed.”
I roar, my teeth flashing and my hands closing to fists as I advance on them.
“To sleep!” Ian squeaks. “So, she could sleep, Coach, I swear!”
“Move,” I hiss.
Ian jumps aside, but suddenly, it looks like Scott’s found himself some last-minute liquid courage.
“Yo, you know what?” the little fuck suddenly sneers. “Nah, man. This is private property, and this is a private party. So get the fuck out of here before I call the—oooopph!”
He doubles over, choking as my fist slams into his stomach, dropping him to his knees. I grab him by the hair, haul him halfway back up, and do it again before letting him drop the grass. He moans like a stabbed pig, sobbing as he suddenly just vomits what looks like beer and blood.
I whirl on Ian, who looks like he’s about to have a fucking heart attack.
“Coach, I—it’s not at you… I mean, she was all over me all night! I was just—”