Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 124923 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 416(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124923 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 416(@300wpm)
When I open my messages, it’s worse than I initially thought. It’s not just my mom, but my dad, old cheer friends, and family members I haven’t spoken to in years have messaged me, asking if I’m okay. I’m only confused until I see that my mom went to social media and immediately made a sympathy post.
What the fuck? I huff out a laugh, shaking my head. I shouldn’t be surprised.
As if I summoned the drama queen herself, my screen lights up again with her name. I decide to answer her, only because I know she won’t give up. I’d rather get it over with now.
“Hello?” I ask, trying to keep my voice low.
“Valentina!” my mother shrieks, and I hold my phone away from my ear. My eyes dart up to the rearview mirror to see Holden’s reaction, but he either doesn’t hear her or doesn’t care because his expression never changes, his eyes never leaving the road. “Thank God. You have no idea what I’ve been going through.”
“What you’ve been going through?” I repeat, confused.
“Yes! I was worried sick.”
“You were,” I say flatly, skepticism clear in my tone.
“Of course, I was,” she admonishes. “When Shayne told me you were stranded, I was afraid you’d be stuck there and miss New Year’s Eve.”
I roll my eyes, more at myself than her. I must be tired because I’m never so quick to believe that she might actually care about my well-being more than herself. “Don’t worry, Mother. You’ll have your perfect little family together for a picture.”
“Don’t be a child. I knew you were fine, and let’s be honest, it would be just like you to use something like this to your advantage. Anything to get out of spending time with me.”
“Yes. You caught me. I orchestrated this entire thing to avoid going home, actually.” My words are meant to sound sarcastic, but it’s not lost on me that it was, in fact, better than being home for the holidays.
“Well, your plan backfired because your father was so worried that he came in early.” The pure glee in which she informs me of this fact tells me that this was part of her plan all along. Funny how the schemers are always the one accusing others of scheming. She may be engaged to someone else, but she’ll never pass up an opportunity to get my father back into her clutches. She acts as if she’s happier than she’s ever been, but if given half a chance, I have no doubt that she’d drop her fiancé, Lawrence, in a heartbeat.
“Why would you do that?” I hiss into the phone. This time when I look into the rearview mirror, I find Holden’s curious eyes on mine.
“I did nothing. I simply told him about your predicament. He was already on his way when Elena called to let me know they were going to get you. I let him know you’d be home late tonight.”
She talked to Shayne’s mom? “I’m not coming home tonight. We’re heading back to campus.” There’s no way I want to face her or my father, but especially not in the same room. Then again, if I go back to the dorms, I’m going to be right across the hall from Holden. I don’t know which one is worse.
“Unacceptable,” she starts, but I put the phone down as she rants when Holden starts to speak.
“We’re going to crash in Sawyer Point tonight. It’s late and it’s closer than Hadley.” Oh, right. Normal people don’t stay on campus during the holidays.
I give him a wordless nod, picking up the phone to cut off her spiel. “I’ll be there in an hour.”
Valen
Luckily, my dad is smarter than I give him credit for and booked a hotel room for the night instead of meeting me at the house, much to my mother’s dismay, I’m sure.
When I finally get home, the house is dark and quiet, and my mother is standing at the entryway wearing a silk robe, her hair still blown out from when she was expecting company. Her fiancé is noticeably absent, and I have to wonder if that was strategic on her part. Lawrence is nice enough. He keeps to himself and hasn’t tried to get me to call him Dad, so I take that as a win. He’s some investment banker, ten years younger than my mother. Compared to the company she has been known to keep, the guy’s a goddamn saint.
She holds out her arms for a hug and I reluctantly trudge over to her, dragging my suitcase behind me. I step into her arms and return her hug with limp arms. She pulls back, hands grasping my shoulders as she inspects me. “You look awful.”
“Thanks so much,” I say, unbothered by her remark. I could be red-carpet ready and she’d still have some critique. I’m surprised it took her this long to comment, to be honest. My baggy sweatpants and Holden’s even baggier shirt that hangs beneath my ski jacket are probably the most offensive things she’s seen in a long time.