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)
Him.
Not Lucas but his asshole ex-best friend.
The guy I kissed on my sixteenth birthday and thereby blew everything to pieces. The guy that my parents have always hated, but more so after that kiss.
And whom my father tried to beat up that night.
God, I’ve never seen my dad that angry. That enraged and furious.
One second I was shocked that Lucas had seen me with his best friend, the next I was running after him, trying to stop him, talk to him, explain. And the second after that, my dad was upon Reign.
It was a mess.
A big giant mess.
My dad had Reign pinned against the wall, screaming in his face. My mom was trying to pull my dad back. I was crying, trying to pull my dad back also. And I know that he would’ve killed Reign, or at least broken a few bones in his body, if my mom hadn’t sent Reign away. And that was the last time they both saw him before he left town and went back to New York.
So I knew that him coming back would bring up old wounds. Old anger, old hurt.
The only good thing is that he isn’t here.
As in, here here, at the manor.
He’s staying at a motel, something that I had no idea about until I came home this morning and heard a few guards talking about it. They all shut up when they saw me in the vicinity but I’d heard enough.
To wonder.
As in why would he be staying at a motel when he has a big mansion at his disposal.
Especially when he hasn’t been back in two long years.
Not even for his dad’s funeral.
But again, now is not the time to dwell on that.
Blushing, I bring both my hands down to my lap and thread my fingers together, drawing strength from my own self like my parents are drawing from each other.
Strength to stay calm. To not shiver and shake at simply the mention of him.
To not betray that I already know everything that they’re telling me right now.
But most of all, I need the strength to tell them that they have nothing to worry about. That I won’t repeat the same mistakes or do anything that might hurt them that way again.
That they can trust me.
They don’t give me the chance though as my mother continues, “And I want you to promise us something.”
“Promise you what?”
“That you will have nothing to do with him.”
“What?”
My dad shifts in his seat, impatient. “We don’t want you anywhere near that prick, do you hear me? Anywhere near him.”
“Scott, relax,” my mother says. Then turning to me, “Promise us, Echo. Promise that you won’t have contact with him while he’s here.”
My heart is slamming in my chest.
Slamming and slamming as I say, “M-Mom, I told you. I’ve told you a million times, I have no interest in him. What happened…” My fingers lock themselves together even harder. “It was a mistake. I never intended or wanted to do anything with him. I’m not —”
“But it happened nonetheless,” my dad growls. “It happened and it can happen again. And if it does —”
“Scott, lower your voice please,” my mom says, trying to calm him down.
But I can see the anger on his face. On her face as well.
“No, I won’t,” he says to her. “He climbed through her window. Through her fucking window, Annie. While we were in the house. While we were downstairs. He had the goddamn audacity to come into my house and seduce my daughter. And my daughter was stupid enough to be seduced by him. My daughter.”
This has always been the running theory in my house.
That Reign was the one to seduce me and lead me astray.
Again, probably because they can’t imagine their daughter doing something like this without coercion.
I think it’s hard enough for them to contend with the fact that their daughter was making out up in her bedroom while they were downstairs watching TV, and with a boy who was not her boyfriend, plus that two days later, she vandalized the room of said boy and got arrested for it, that they can’t compute anything else.
They can’t compute that I did what I did of my own free will.
Kissing, vandalizing and ending up at a reform school, where I still go.
“I should’ve beaten the crap out of him two years ago,” my dad continues, growling, “I should beat the crap out of him right now. For coming back. For setting foot —”
“But Dad,” I cut him off. “He d-didn’t… He didn’t seduce me. I’ve told you that. I was —”
“Echo,” my mom snaps. “No.”
“But Mom —”
“No, not one word.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from talking.
From explaining to them — probably for the hundredth time — that he didn’t coerce me or coax me. He didn’t force himself on me or render me stupid with seduction.