Total pages in book: 185
Estimated words: 191421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 957(@200wpm)___ 766(@250wpm)___ 638(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 191421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 957(@200wpm)___ 766(@250wpm)___ 638(@300wpm)
When I confessed everything that was in my heart.
I came out of hiding and told them about my relationship with Lucas, how broken it was and how I didn’t even know it. About the mistake that I made two years ago that led me to St. Mary’s and how much I regret it, but I really would like to put it behind me.
And then I told them all the things that I struggle with, have always struggled with.
Being good. Being perfect. Being happy and not guilty all the time.
And they listened, silently, carefully.
Well, my mom did. My dad was interrupting with his own anger. But they both paid attention to what I was saying and as difficult as that conversation was, I did feel relief at the end of it. I did feel like it was an important conversation to have.
Plus I could finally tell them about St. Mary’s, my friends, my time over there. Which is how all my friends were able to come over and spend the entire day with me.
But I also don’t want my mother to blame herself for things in the past. I also don’t want to see her in pain. I just want to move on. I want our family to look to the future.
“And Echo told us that you were the one who showed her that,” she continues. “That she needs to take care of herself. That she needs to… put herself first and I… I’m thankful to you for that. And also, for NYU. For getting her a second chance and —”
“She deserved it,” he says with determination. “She deserves whatever she wants.”
My mom’s shoulders inch up and down on a sigh. “She does. But again, that doesn’t mean that this is easy for us, having you here. Having our daughter say that she loves you. That she wants to be with you. Especially when we know, when we’ve always known things about you. When we’ve heard things, seen things.”
At this point, my mother has grasped my dad’s hand and they’re standing there as a team, and gosh, I want to do that too.
I want to make our own team. With Reign.
I don’t want him to stand there, all strained and all alone, his hands fisted at his sides. I want to slide my hand into his and stand beside him. Now and forever.
But my friends still won’t let me go and my mother begins to speak.
“Echo has told us about that as well. About the rumors and how they’re false. Or exaggerated. How the truth is different. About you and Mr. Davidson. She never gave us any specifics but it’s hard for us to believe, you understand? Because we owe a lot to your father. Most of us here do. But despite recent events, we’re choosing to believe her. Which means that when she says that she’s in love with you —”
“What are your intentions toward our daughter?”
That’s my dad and I can’t help but scream out, “Dad! No.”
That wasn’t how I wanted to make my presence known. Screaming from the top of the stairs and shocking everyone, including my friends standing beside me.
But I had to do it.
I had to stop my dad from asking the inappropriate questions.
Well, not really.
I mean, I get why he’d want to ask this, but I don’t want him to.
Because I don’t know what his answer is going to be. Because I’m afraid his answer is going to be something I won’t want to hear. Because I’m… just scared out of my mind.
And I’ve had it.
I want to go to him. I have to go to him now.
While both my mother and my father turn around to look at me, I keep my focus on the guy I love to pieces. Whose eyes have come to rest on me, and they look so intense and shiny that it’s not a gaze anymore, or a stare or a look.
It’s a touch.
A pull. A gravity. A force.
His reddish-brown eyes are the life running in my veins and my bloodstream that give me the push to run. To tear down the stairs and all the while I’m running to him, I can see.
I can see things moving inside of him as well.
As if my own brown gaze, my thumping footsteps are affecting him the same way.
Are making his chest shudder, his feet shift, his mouth part.
And then I’m there.
Between him and my parents.
I take him in, his shaven jaw, his short hair, those eyes. The bruises. His split lip.
Then I step up to him. I step beside him.
I grasp his hand.
I clutch it — or rather his fist — like I wanted to all this time and turn around.
To face my parents. My dad and his seething features; my mom and her somehow both compassionate and cautious eyes, holding that lone rose.