Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 140742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 704(@200wpm)___ 563(@250wpm)___ 469(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 140742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 704(@200wpm)___ 563(@250wpm)___ 469(@300wpm)
Shortly after it happened, when the cloud of sadness and anger lifted, I started asking questions. Why did only that part of the club catch fire? How did it even start? Why hadn’t she fled? Why hadn’t someone pulled her out of there? Surely, she wasn’t by herself. I knew she wasn’t. But who was she with? Someone horrible. It was the only explanation. Even if it had been an accident, they left her there to die. We left her there to die.
My chest tightens at the thought. I’m a professional compartmentalizer. It’s the only way I know to survive the pain of losing a loved one. It’s the only way I’ve been able to deal with what happened with Mal. I grieved and buried all of the negative things I’ve associated with that place and Mal. I’ve held onto the memory of the girl I became friends with—the one who was slow to trust and the life of the party. I was at a good place before Finn barged into my life with this mess, making me second-guess everything and think about that night.
A shiver rolls through me, as flashes of memories appear in my mind—the loud music during the car ride, the cute guy flirting with Livie, the way Mal smiled over her shoulder as she walked down that hall… that smile haunts me the most. I push it back into the box I’ve created for her, the one that sits on the shelf next to my father’s. Don’t think about it right now. The blunt end of the knife scrapes against my finger, snapping me out of my thoughts.
“The way he looks at you isn’t an act. Not only that night, but when he was here as well,” Mom says, eyes sparkling mischievously.
“Don’t get your hopes up. He’s not a relationship kind of guy.”
“Who?” Damian asks, making us jump at his unexpected arrival.
My face is hot, but I manage to say “no one” at the same time my mother says “Finn.”
Damian’s brows shoot up and he blinks hard as he walks toward the fridge. His reaction makes my stomach turn. They went golfing together yesterday and had practice together this morning. I suppose he’ll hear things about Finn’s private life that I probably don’t want to know, if the face he made is any indication.
“How was golf?” Mom asks, and I sag in relief.
“It was nice.” Dame sorts through the assortment of protein shakes and picks the strawberry.
“Was it only the guys?” she asks, moving her pot from the fire and setting another one in its place.
“Some wives and girlfriends went,” he says, uncapping the protein shake and taking a huge gulp. He looks at me as he says, “Some singles.”
My stomach dips again. I focus on picking up the plantain peels and stand to throw them out. I hate jumping to conclusions, but Dame makes it hard. Mom picks up on it too.
“And? Did any of them catch your eye?” she asks.
“I didn’t really pay attention to them.” He drinks the rest of the shake and tosses the carton into the recycling bin.
“That’s new,” Mom says, going back to her cooking. “What about Finn?”
My heart slams hard in its cage. I start cutting up the plantains into chunks, hoping I can hear his answer through the pounding in my ears.
“What about him?” Dame picks up a toston and blows on it before popping the whole thing into his mouth and muffling, “Oof. It’s hot.”
“I just took those out of the frying pan!” Mom picks up the kitchen towel and whips it at him. “Set the table. Your dad should be here any minute.” After a moment, she shakes her head and asks, “Did Finn pay attention to any of them?”
Dame snorts a laugh. “Why are you so interested in Finn?”
“I think he has a thing for Josie.”
I groan. “Oh my god, Mom. He accompanied me to a charity event. End of story.”
“He’s had a thing for Joss for years,” Dame says.
My heart skips. “That’s a lie.”
“What?! I didn’t know that!” Mom switches off the stove and starts plating the fried fish. “What happened? You lost touch?”
I throw my head back with a soft laugh. “We have the internet and smartphones. I don’t think it’s possible to ‘lose touch.’”
“Finn’s not the relationship type,” Dame says, and I raise an eyebrow at my mother.
“When is your meet-and-greet?” I ask, trying to change the subject.
“Monday,” he says. “No, Tuesday. Fuck, I can’t remember.”
“Men like him are never the relationship type until someone comes along and changes his mind,” Mom says.
“Oh my god.” I cover my face with my hands. “Make it stop.”
“He was all over you the other night,” Dame says, pursing his lips the way he does when he’s trying not to say too much. “I’m sure people are asking you about the pictures.”