Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 173392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 694(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 173392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 694(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
Army drops his hands, but I don’t think Macon even noticed him. He’s looking at me like he looks at Trace sometimes.
I swallow. “Getting rid of them before you showed up.”
“Am I in the habit of doing stupid things that I need to be protected from myself?” he chastises. “They could’ve hurt you. Taken you. I can suffer a few lost headstones—some holes in the ground—” He gestures to the earth underneath us. “Because it’s all about the long game, and not a single person in my fucking house understands that!”
I startle, his growl piercing my ear. I don’t think my parents have yelled at me like that. Ever.
I don’t think it would hurt like it does with him, though.
“I wanted to help,” I explain. “I just—”
“When I need your help, I will ask for it,” he snaps. “I don’t need someone else to babysit. You understand?”
I recoil, a feeling like I want to hide washing over me. He’s looking at me like I’m stupid.
He likes me in his kitchen and in his room. Not anywhere else.
“Take her home,” he orders.
Santos, who I didn’t see arrive, steps up.
I can’t look at Macon. “I have a car,” I say, and start to walk past him.
“And make sure she doesn’t leave,” he calls out.
Santos takes my wrist, but before I can pull away, I hear a voice. “Don’t touch her,” someone else says.
I look up at Trace. Eyes hard, he stands tall—taller than I’ve ever seen him—and everything goes quiet. Even the rain.
Santos releases me.
Trace takes a few steps closer to his brother. Macon turns to face him.
“You can talk to us like that,” Trace says. “Because sometimes we deserve it, but she’s not your property.”
My eyes sting. Macon stands toe to toe with his brother, getting in his face.
Trace stays rooted. “I won’t hit back,” he tells him, “but I’m not gonna back up anymore.”
I almost smile.
“With her,” he says to Macon, “you have to be gentle.”
“You taking her back?” Macon dares him.
Taking me back. Like I’m an object who doesn’t speak.
I look away, but I see Trace turn to me out of the corner of my eye. I meet his gaze.
“Can I have you back?” he asks.
I open my mouth, but I don’t say anything. I don’t want to start up with Trace again, but I also love that he’s asking. It feels like something has changed inside of him.
He steps over, takes my hand, and says, “I’ll give you a ride home.”
He starts to lead me away, but I pull him back and hug him tight. My chest fills up with something, and I don’t know what it is, but it feels good. I wish we’d started like this. As friends. “I love you, too,” I whisper.
I take off Liv’s raincoat and turn to Macon, stepping closer. “You weren’t going to keep me, were you?”
He stares.
I force down the lump in my throat. “If I make love to you …”
I lower my voice. “I don’t think I’m ever going to want anyone else.” I gaze at him, desperate for everyone else to disappear so he’ll let me touch him. “Will you keep me?”
His chest falls hard.
I want him to keep me, but something is holding him back. Maybe it’s my age. Maybe he thinks his health will be a burden on me.
Maybe it’s something else.
But I can’t sleep in his bed tonight.
“Aracely,” I call out over my shoulder. “Would you take me home?”
I leave, catching up to her. Both of us jump into her car, and I lock my door because I don’t trust myself if he tries to pry me back.
Trace was right. I need him to be gentle.
We take off, the radio playing music, and I almost tell her to stop a hundred times. He’s prideful. He won’t come for me. He would rather suffer for twenty years than admit he needs me with him. He won’t come to St. Carmen.
He would never cross the tracks for a woman.
Soon, we’re out of the Bay and climbing up into my neighborhood, the rain a steady but light fall.
Aracely hasn’t said anything.
I finally speak up. “You’re in love … with Army.” I look over at her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”
She holds the wheel with both hands, keeping her eyes trained out the front windshield. “You weren’t supposed to. He certainly doesn’t.”
“And you certainly don’t beat around the bush with me,” I muse. “So why have you with him? Why don’t you tell him?”
“I did,” she replies flatly. “When I was fifteen.”
Oh.
“He was nineteen at the time and laughed in my face. I told him again when I was eighteen and when I was twenty.”
“Didn’t you go out with Iron and Dallas during that time?”
She dated them both somewhere in there.
But she just plucks a cigarette out of her pack in the console. “Yeah, well … that was never about love. For them, either.”