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)
“You were dying,” I insist, upset. “He was strangling you.”
“I was making it look believable, Jesus. I was gonna tap out in a second.” He shakes his head before continuing, “You cost me ten fucking grand with your drama and pink girly tears.”
Ignoring his rude remarks, I inch closer to him, my frown thickening. “Wait a minute, is that why you were supposed to lose? Because you were getting paid for it.”
His jaw tics. “Yes.”
“But that’s… Is that legal?”
His jaw tics some more. “Yes.” Then, “And no.”
“What does that —”
“Not every fight’s fixed. This one was. Something that I was looking forward to for fucking days.”
“Oh God, why?”
“Because it means more money.”
“And?”
“What and?”
“I feel like there’s an ‘and’ in there.”
He’s getting annoyed by my questions now. I can tell.
He’s reaching his limit.
But he does reply, “And I deserve it. Getting beaten up.”
And then I just blink, my lips parted but barely breathing.
Because he thinks getting pummeled almost to death is what he should get for what he did.
For kissing me. For betraying Lucas. For having me sent to St. Mary’s.
He deserves it for the sins that he’s committed for two years, two months and however many days ago that I can’t remember. And the reason he does is because he burns with it every second of every day.
If he was like me and kept a diary, I bet he’d be marking days in it.
Days and days of guilt and fire and war inside of him.
And so I have to tell him now.
I have to tell him that I choose him. That I will never ever give up on him.
That I will not let him suffer like this.
“You done?” he asks, his eyes intent and unforgivable.
I let my body loose, my fingers grasping his neck like an anchor, ready for him. “Yes.”
“You gonna answer my questions now?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Good.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“Who told you I was here?”
“Callie’s husband.”
“Reed?”
“Yes.” I nod and launch into the whole explanation. “Callie’s my friend. Well, she’s recently become my friend. And I asked Poe, my other friend — who’s also recently become my friend — for her help to find you. And that she should ask Callie to ask Reed about where you —”
“Why?” he asks, impatient.
“Because I thought Reed would know where you —”
“Jesus,” he growls. “Why did you want to find me?”
Oh right, that.
“Because I wanted to talk to you,” I whisper, “and you blocked my number.”
His eyes narrow. “And that didn’t clue you in that I didn’t wanna talk to you?”
“Well, yeah,” I say, biting my lip.
He watches me bite my lip with almost a glare. “But you decided to stalk me anyway.”
I let my tingling lip go. “I wasn’t stalking. This isn’t stalking.”
“Yeah, no. This is pretty much stalking 101.”
“So, fine. Okay. I was stalking. But only because I wanted to tell you things.”
“What things?”
Letting out a deep breath, I look into his angry but beautiful dark eyes. “That we’re friends.”
“What?”
“You and me.” I swallow. “We’re friends now.”
He stares at me for a beat or two. “How’s that?”
“Because we’ve made progress.”
“Progress.”
“Yes.” I nod. “In the p-past few days.”
Again, he studies me for a few seconds. “What kind of progress?”
“Well,” I clear my throat, blushing under his intense gaze. “For one, we don’t make each other sick with hate anymore.”
“We don’t.”
I blush harder. “No. And you’ve been helping me. With my problem. And protecting me and keeping an eye on me. And we saw that movie together the other night. Plus we text and I know you call it a work phone but sometimes I just text you to talk to you and I think —”
“Yeah, you do.”
I dig my fingers in his neck. “I know you hate texting.”
“Yes.”
“But sometimes…” My heart’s racing really fast now. “Sometimes I just want to talk to you.”
His jaw tics as he stares and stares at me.
“And now you’ve blocked my number.”
Even though I’ve only essentially had this phone for a little over a week and it was only last weekend when I started texting him just for the hell of it, it still felt like a loss.
Not being able to contact him.
Because I do it just to say hi to him.
Or tell him about the book that I downloaded. That never would’ve been possible if not for him. Or that I stayed up all night to read it.
That’s what friends do, don’t they?
They talk to each other. They text and call.
And while I know that he doesn’t feel like a friend or only like a friend, I don’t know what else to call it.
When Reign doesn’t answer me, I say, “And so I came here because I wanted to ask you to unblock it and ask why you blocked it in the first place. And I have to tell you that —”
My words cut off when he pulls my head back.