Total pages in book: 156
Estimated words: 151044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 755(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 151044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 755(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
“You’re not bleeding.”
The woman cleared her throat. “If you don’t leave I’m calling the police.”
I huffed. “Fine.” Then I snatched the scissors out of her pencil holder and shouted, “Run!”
Back out on the street, about a block away from the bank, I clutched my knees and caught my breath. “I can’t believe I just robbed a bank for you.”
Barrett skipped after me. “That was fun.”
“Where did you get a lollipop?”
“Dunno, but it’s root beer. Want some?”
I took a lick. “I love root beer. Bend down so I can fix your hair.”
He tipped forward like one of those bird desk ornaments.
“There.” I handed him his hair. “Crisis averted.”
“Pheww, that was close.” He looked up and grabbed me by the shirt. “Look.”
My gaze lifted as I stared up at the hotel we’d been trying to reach. “Fucking. Bingo.”
We jumped and screamed with relief. “We made it!” It was the achievement of a lifetime and I wished Hale was there to share it.
“We’ll take our trophy now!” Barrett yelled, peacocking about like he’d just scored a touchdown.
“Come on.” I tugged him toward the hotel doors and he stumbled after me. “Hi.” I plastered my upper body to the reception counter. “Did a woman drop off a phone here for Rayne Meyers?”
“No.”
My heart sank. “Are you sure?”
“A man did. Big guy. Dark hair.”
“What man?” My eyes narrowed. “Did he leave a phone for Rayne Meyers?”
“He left this.” The hotel clerk reached under the counter and revealed my clutch from the rehearsal dinner. Relief shot through me as I snatched it to my chest.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Pulling out my phone, I winced at the multiple missed calls from Hale and my euphoria quickly faded. “This is bad.”
I scrolled through his texts, which didn’t start until the middle of the night. The fact that he hadn’t started to worry until after three, showed one of two things. Either the damage to his card was that bad and needed that much attention, or he was that pissed at me for leaving.
I wondered how to respond. After the tenth, where are you he started demanding I answer him. That was several hours ago.
“Here.” Barrett handed me an uncapped beer.
I couldn’t think and my mouth was dryer than a sock, so I drank. “I don’t know what to text him.” When he started to walk, I rushed after him. “Where are you going?”
“I got a room and a pizza from room service.”
“But what about Hale?”
“What about him?”
“He’s mad—”
“Hale’s always mad when he doesn’t have complete control over a situation. Text him that you’re safe and tell him you’ll call him after we get some sleep.”
My brain was working really hard yet I couldn’t decide what to do. There were definitely still drugs in my system.
“How do you spell safe? My keyboard doesn’t have an F.”
“I’m going this way. Are you coming or not?”
I panicked and hit send. “Wait up.”
My Life is an Endless Screech
I can’t recall the day I was born. I have no memories of the labor or my body contorting through my mother’s in order to enter a new world. I don’t remember the shock or the struggle to breathe.
Was there fear? Probably. Confusion? Absolutely. I imagine there were screams and pain and a great deal of pressure.
I’ve also never had a baby, so I can’t speak on such experiences from a maternal point of view. But I can say, with 99.9 percent certainty, that neither birth nor labor would have been one-fifth as traumatic as what I awoke to that next day.
The first moments were a blur of blinding pain, confusion, bodily dysfunction, more confusion, throbbing pain, and disorientation. And confusion.
Did I mention confusion?
Barrett—not Hale—bolted upright, scaring the shit out of me. Nothing was right. He was in my bed, missing hair, and naked! From there everything spiraled into mayhem.
There was so much screaming.
“What the fuck did you do?” Barrett yelled.
My throbbing head shook. His hair, the tattoo, the weird clothes, the ungodly fucking stench of it all. I had no explanation for any of it. But Hale was on his way and my heart was pounding out of my chest as I panicked and tried to think of a way to explain this.
“I didn’t—”
“Where’s my fucking hair, Rayne?” He ransacked the suite.
“Maybe this is a new look for you—” I shut my mouth when he stormed toward me, detached sad, little man-bun swinging from his fist.
“You. Cut. My. Fucking. Hair.”
I held up my hands in a gesture of peace. “Memories are a little sketchy, but I’m pretty sure you were on board with it.”
“I’m going to fucking murder you!”
“Barrett—”
We silenced as there was a knock on the door and Hale’s voice cut through the chaos, “Rayne?”
My heart plummeted fast and hard enough to leave me woozy with fear. I covered my mouth, wondering if I was about to get sick right there on the carpet. It was too late. This wasn’t happening. What was I going to do?