Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 22029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 110(@200wpm)___ 88(@250wpm)___ 73(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 110(@200wpm)___ 88(@250wpm)___ 73(@300wpm)
“Thank you, I will.”
I take Mrs. DeFasio’s words to heart, and then one stings and makes me wonder if the Westburys will try to take my baby away from me. Surely, I’m a better fit than they are for parenting, especially considering Bianca is drunk most of the time and Sterling . . . well, he’s just a giant piece of dog turd. I’ll never understand how someone can be so disgusting to others.
On my way into the library, a fellow student hands me a flyer. I take it and stuff it into my bag and make my way to the fourth floor where I have rented a private room to study in. Mason spends a lot of his free time in mine and Katelyn’s room, and I know it’s because they’re watching me, waiting for me to collapse and crumble into a heap on the floor. I love them, but they hover a bit too much.
Am I depressed? Yes.
Do I spend an ungodly amount of time crying? Yes.
Did my life as I know it fall apart? Yes.
I feel like Liam died, and I need to mourn him and the relationship we had. With Katelyn and Mason always around, I can’t do that. Deep down, I know things will be okay. They’ll get better with time, but time is infinite, and right now I just need to move through life at my own pace. As long as I eat, drink, sleep, and take my prenatal vitamins, I should be okay.
Never fine.
Just okay.
The private study rooms at the library are small like a cubicle, but with a door. The two best parts about the door is you can lock it and pull the shade down. I do both. I sit down, set my bag on the desk, and use it as a pillow. I need a nap. Ten, twenty, or thirty minutes, I don’t care. I need the peace and quiet from the noise in my mind.
Only, sleep evades because my brain can’t shut off. I have assignments due, a test, a growing baby in my belly, a missing ex, and life in general weighing heavily on me.
I dig through my bag and pull my books out. On top of the pile is the flyer the kid out front handed to me, advertising a new and upcoming artist who has a new hit out on the radio.
YOU’RE ALL INVITED TO LIAM PAGE’S LISTENING PARTY!
Liam Page Westbury.
Liam stares back at me.
The father of my baby.
He left me for a whole other life.
Now, it all makes sense. The nights he’d play his guitar or when he played the song he put on the tape—that last night in his truck. I try to remember the song, but I can’t. At the time, I liked it and figured he planned to give me the tape. But he hadn’t. He took it with him. Probably thinking I didn’t care.
He didn’t give me a chance to care. Or did he?
“There’s more to life than football, Jojo.”
He quit football to become a musician and didn’t even give me chance to be with him.
Why?
Because when he came to tell you, all you wanted to do was call his coach.
I don’t know whether to cry or scream right now, but I do know, I can’t compete. The guy on this flyer, looking moody and smoking hot, isn’t the guy who I fell in love with. Who loved me back.
He’s not my Liam.
Now that I’ve seen the flyer, the tears are back. It’s not that they ever leave, but sometimes they subside long enough for me to function as humanely as possible. I pack my things, fold the flyer and stick it into the pocket of my bag, and leave. On my way out, I pass the job board and take a few notices with me. I’m going to need a job. I don’t care if I have to serve coffee for the next four years, I need something that’s going to help support my child.
On my way back to my dorm, I manage to avoid every other student trying to hand me a flyer for the listening party. I can’t stop the thoughts, the memories. They’re all there whether I want them to be or not.
So is his face.
And his name.
As fast as my body allows, I make my way to the third floor. Thankfully, it’s only Katelyn in there, which is rare these days. She eyes me, and before I can tell her about the flyer, the door bursts open and Mason’s standing there, chest heaving.
“Have you heard from Liam?” he asks me in an accusatory tone. As if I’d hide the fact that Liam called.
“You know I haven’t.” I sit down and he hands me the same flyer folded in my backpack. I act shocked because it’s easier than explaining I found out a half hour prior and didn’t run and tell them. Sometimes, I need to digest news on my own.