Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 137433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 550(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 550(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
He’s right, and I hate that he’s right. My new reality closes in on me like four walls that keep on inching toward one another.
“From now on, you’re under our watchful eye. When you leave the house, it’s either with me or Mom. Never alone.”
“Or Lev,” I bargain breathlessly. “Lev too.”
I’m not sure why I’m insisting, since Lev is no longer my prince in Bottega Veneta. He never arrived at the hospital, even though he promised he would when we talked on the phone. And even though he texted sporadically these past three days, he’s sounded more pissed-off than worried.
Has he given up on me? On us?
Mom sighs. “That boy loves you way too much.”
“Agree to disagree,” I mutter, looking out the window.
“Lev ain’t dumb and knows what’s gonna happen to him if Bailey takes something under his watch,” Dad argues. “He can keep an eye on her.”
“Fine. And Lev.” Mom scrubs her face tiredly. “He did save you. Oh, and, Bailey?”
“Yeah?” I bat my lashes innocently. Perfect Bailey resurfaces. Or at least, I’m trying to drag her back to the light, kicking and screaming.
“Stop scratching your knee. You’re bleeding all over. That must hurt. Can’t you feel it?”
I can’t, actually. I’m numb and in excruciating pain all at once, all the time.
“Sorry, Mom.” I tuck my hands under my butt to stop myself. “I’ll take that orange now, Dad.”
He flings it behind his shoulder and watches in the mirror as I peel it methodically, in one go, then sink my teeth into it like it’s an apple, rather than break it into slices. A rumble bubbles from his chest. Laughter fills the air-conditioned car.
“Love you, Bails.”
“To the moon and back, Captain Random.”
CHAPTER 3
Lev
Age eighteen
Miserable Fact #2,398: Roughly 67.1 million people die in the world every year.
“Trash offensive game today, Cap.” Austin barrels into the locker room bare-chested, spitting his mouthguard to the floor. I peel off my gear and dump it on the bench. I amble into the showers dead-ass naked, even though the door to the field is wide-open and a bunch of sophomores can probably see me during PE. I shake my head. Austin ain’t worth a response. Grim joins me on his hoverboard, also bare-assed.
“You can’t ride that inside the locker room, you creepy fuck.” I scowl.
“How’s a hoverboard creepy?” He pops popcorn-cola gum. His signature scent is smelling like an AMC’s sticky floor and first base in the dark. “Please enlighten me.”
“Your balls are flapping in the wind like a flag on a cruise ship.”
“It’s a free country.”
“It’s not the only thing that’s free is the problem.”
Grim jumps off the board and kicks it back. It crashes against the wall noisily. “Aye, aye, Captain.”
My being the captain of the All Saints High football team is a point of contention between us.
Not because he is a better player, a better leader, a better anything—he’s none of those things. I’m God’s gift on and off the field, and that’s indisputable. Grim’s second best. Everyone knows that. But because I don’t give a quarter fuck about the game and he wants to play college football, I’m supposed to bow down, step aside, and give him all the glory. In his warped mind, hunger trumps merit.
I turn the faucet on and shove my head beneath the water, rubbing my face. I haven’t heard from Bailey in four days, which is screwed up considering our last phone call. Austin isn’t wrong. My head’s not in the game. It’s not even in the same fucking state. It’s in New York.
An overdose. What the fuck? The Bailey I know doesn’t drink caffeinated beverages after two p.m.
I’m also wondering, Why did she call me when we’ve been practically strangers since the day she left for Juilliard? I’ve been living the past year in a coma since she left and was fine with it—if you love someone, let them go, right?—but what if you love someone, and the idiot decides to accidentally kill themselves and they reach out to you? What’s the protocol on that?
Grim and Austin join me on either side of the showers. Around us are Finn, Mac, Antonio, Ballsy, and the rest of the squad. Ballsy’s real name is Todd Ostrovsky, but he has this weird condition that makes his balls gigantic. Like, so big his run times are affected.
I grab curd soap and rub it over my body and my hair, letting the bubbles slither down my abs. “Instead of being butthurt about not being captain, worry about our game with St. John Bosco next week.”
“How ’bout I’ll do both?” Grim Kwon—a certified smartass, extra tall, extra dark, extra handsome, extra fucking period—grabs the bar from my hand and shoves it in his ass, rubbing. “Ever heard of multitasking?”
“Ever heard of boundaries?” I hiss out. “That was my soap.”
“That was my captainship,” he retorts. “You didn’t even put your name forward. Coach did.”