Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
“That was messed up,” my stepbrother says. “You could try a little.”
“I could, but I don’t want to. Trust me, don’t fall for this act. He doesn’t deserve you caping for him. And these conversations go much quicker when I don’t pretend to participate.”
“Maybe it’s not an act,” RJ points out.
I roll my eyes at him. For some obnoxious reason, he’s been on my case this past week about how I should be open to reconciliation. But he doesn’t know my dad or what it was like waking up one morning and realizing my father had chosen to stop noticing I existed. At least RJ’s dad had the decency to get sent to prison.
“I told you, this nice guy bullshit is just that—bullshit. Showering you and your mom with gifts and vacation suggestions. Trying to be your buddy. It’s fake. He’s trying to impress your mother. Make himself look good so that when they eventually divorce, she doesn’t take half his money.”
Hesitation creases RJ’s features.
“What?” I demand.
“I don’t know…” He fidgets with the bottom of his tie.
“What?” I repeat.
“Part of me thinks maybe the marriage will actually work out,” he finally admits.
My jaw drops. “Dude.”
“I know.”
“Since when?”
He offers a shrug. “They seem happy.”
“They’re newlyweds. Of course they’re happy right now. He probably ate her out on the kitchen counter this morning.”
RJ blanches. “Gross. That’s my mom. Anyway, I’m not saying it’ll last. Only that I might not be totally shocked if it does.”
I shake my head at him in reprimand. “What happened to your cynicism? It was my favorite thing about you. I fucking blame Sloane for this.”
“I don’t mind seeing my mother happy,” he grumbles as we head for the door. “So sue me.”
When we reach the doorway, though, he stops and looks at me. He hesitates again, blocking my way.
I lift a brow. “Was there something else you wanted to say?”
After a beat, he breaks eye contact and steps out of the room. “Nothing,” he says without glancing back. “Forget it.”
CHAPTER 4
RJ
SLOANE IS LIVID. I THOUGHT I’D SEEN HER MAD BEFORE, BUT THIS is something else. That eerie kind of quiet stillness that conceals the inferno of rage inside. I’m not even sure she’s breathing.
“What are you thinking?” I ask but receive no response.
An hour ago, she called me out to our spot off the overgrown forest trail where an old bench sits among the shrubs. I came straight from swim practice, getting Lawson to cover for me with Coach and make some excuse for why I had to dip out early. She didn’t clue me in as to what prompted the sudden SOS, but it’s safe to assume it comes back to the decision that’s been looming over our heads for a week now.
And with Fenn making the bonehead move on Casey, he’s forced our hand.
We knew we’d need to confront him about his role in Casey’s accident, but Sloane’s been going back and forth about whether to speak with Casey first. Her reasoning is that Casey deserves to know and Fenn doesn’t deserve a heads-up to prepare what he’ll say, but I suspect she’s afraid of the repercussions that might arise when her sister finds out. She’s terrified Casey will spiral into depression again, and maybe this time won’t be able to crawl out of that dark place.
And I think she’s worried Casey’s feelings for Fenn will cloud her judgment about what to do next. I know Sloane wants to give the tape to the cops. That idea, however, makes me sick to my stomach. I can’t snitch on my stepbrother.
But I also can’t go against my girlfriend.
I hate being stuck in the middle.
“Can you give me a hint at least?” I press.
Above us a bird or something jostles the canopy, and my girlfriend flinches, blinking out of her spell.
“She could have died,” Sloane insists, like she’s mid-sentence of an intense argument in her head that I haven’t been privy to. “Fenn left her there alone with a head wound. Casey could have been bleeding out.” She recoils from the overwhelming image it conjures and starts to pace. “He could have killed her, RJ.”
“Okay, maybe,” I say gently. Disagreeing with her now is taking my life in my own hands, and I’m not trying to die tonight. “But she also would have drowned if Fenn hadn’t been there to rescue her from the sinking car.”
Sharply, she rounds on me. “So you’re taking his side.”
“No. I’m giving you some perspective to consider the context.”
“Fuck your context.”
“Sloane.” I let out a breath. “We still don’t know who the other person was in the video. The first person we saw running past the camera. We have no idea who they are and if they were driving the car. And in the absence of that information, it’s easy to want to put all the blame on the one person we can identify.”