Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 68391 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68391 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
“Depends. It can take a couple hours or a day. You’ll likely dream about what happened, too, and that might cause another adrenaline spike and the shakes to return. The good thing is eventually they will go away.”
“That’s good,” I agree, filling the glass once more.
“What you did was brave.”
“I did what anyone else would have,” I say, and he tips his head to the side, seeming to study me more closely.
“Did you know the little girl?” he asks, and my brows drag together, and I shake my head. “Then you’re wrong. Someone could have wanted to save her, but they might not have gone through the lengths you did to do it.”
“I didn’t do anything,” I say, leaning into the counter, not sure if my legs will be able to hold me up much longer.
“The people on the beach said they saw you go into the water and watched you go under, not coming up for what seemed like minutes before going under again and again, then finally appearing with her. Max was right: you saved her.”
“But did I? You said she was breathing. You never said she was awake.”
“You’re very observant,” he says, studying me in a way that makes me feel like he’s trying to figure me out.
“I had to learn at an early age how to read between the lines. A lot of times, people tell you what you want to hear. Still, they always leave hints so that if they’re ever caught and things are brought to their attention, they can say they never lied.”
“Have you been lied to a lot?”
“No, but I’ve been told a lot of half truths.” I shrug, taking another drink.
“I see.” He nods, and for some reason I think he does.
“So what did you need to talk to me about? Do I need to fill out a report or something?”
“No report, but I do have a few questions about how you came to know Amy, and your interaction with her parents.”
“Can I sit down?” I ask. My legs feel like jelly, and there is no way I want to seem weak around him. Falling on my face again would for sure make me seem weak.
“Yeah.”
I walk past him to my bed and take a seat on the edge, wrapping my arms around my bare middle. I frown as he walks toward my front door, and I start to ask what he’s doing but stop myself when he grabs one of my hoodies off the hook and brings it to me. I glance down at myself, wondering how I could possibly forget that I’m not dressed, that all I have on is my bikini.
“Thanks.” I take the gray sweatshirt from him when he holds it out to me, then quickly pull it over my head and tug it down to cover the tops of my thighs.
“Now, why don’t you start from the beginning?” he prompts, leaning back against the wall in front of me, making me feel small.
“Can you sit down?” I blurt, then quickly add, “It’s just . . . it feels like an interrogation with you hovering like that, and—”
“You don’t need to explain.” He slides to the floor, and then, with his legs bent and his wrists resting on top of his knees, he asks, “Better?”
I lick my lips, not sure I like this position any more than the previous one. Honestly, I don’t know if him being anywhere in my place would feel okay. The room is too small for his large presence, and with my bed taking up most of the space, it makes this feel too intimate, especially with the conflicting emotions he brings out in me. Who am I kidding? I’m not conflicted; I’m just crazy, because he’s the first guy I’ve ever wanted just because I want him—not because he checks a box or fulfills certain criteria.
“Anna.”
I jump slightly and focus on him. “Sorry.” I lick my lips. “From the beginning?”
“Yeah, baby, from the beginning. And take your time.”
I drag in a breath, then tell him everything that happened. I start from the moment Amy asked if I was a mermaid and end at the moment I passed out. More than once, I pause, because his anger seems to engulf the room, making it almost hard to breathe. But he always reassures me that he’s okay before urging me to continue. When I’m done, he stands, and I grab hold of his hand before he can disappear, like he has a tendency to do. “Can you find out about Amy for me?” I feel desperate for good news. I want to know she’s okay.
“As soon as I know something, I’ll let you know.” He slides his thumb over my pulse, and I swear it skips at the touch.
“Thank you.” I try to let his hand go, but his fingers tighten around mine.