Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 105665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
“You’re fast tonight.” She fished containers out of the sacks.
“I was told to be quick. He used the term starving.” Nick pulled down the bed, setting out his alcohol, wipes, and needles on the nightstand.
“He’s in pain?”
“I think he’s always in pain.” Nick shrugged.
The shower stopped running.
Jersey stared at the closed door. “I need you to leave.”
“What?” Nick murmured like he was half listening to her while continuing his routine.
“I need you to leave,” she repeated with more of an edge to her voice.
He stopped his busy hands and faced her. “How long do you need?”
“We’ll see you tomorrow.”
“But he asked me to—”
“Listen, I know you work for him, but if you want all of your body parts to work for you, then I suggest you leave before he comes out of the bathroom.” Her mouth thinned into a line. “It’s not personal, Nick. Okay?”
Flitting his gaze between the bathroom door and Jersey’s ridged body with clenched hands, he nodded once and exited the room.
A few minutes later, Ian emerged from the bathroom, wearing nothing but a pair of black shorts and wet hair. He glanced around the room as Jersey shoveled pasta into her mouth from her seat at the kitchenette table. “Where’s Nick?”
“How horrible?” She wiped her mouth with her arm and took a drink of his fancy bottled water.
“Nick. Jersey … where’s Nick?”
“I told him we’d see him tomorrow.”
“You can’t just—”
“How horrible? Just answer the fucking question.”
Ian didn’t flinch. His expression remained stoic, numb like his emotions. Jersey knew about numb. Numb was how you navigated life after killing someone.
Good.
Bad.
It didn’t matter. Taking a life changes a person forever, like brutally taking away someone’s virginity. Everything after that is nothing more than a dead string of events, marking time until the next life—a clean slate.
“Do you know what stands between me and you?” he asked, grabbing a gray T-shirt and pulling it over his head.
She narrowed her eyes.
“Your best friend.” Ian grabbed a bowl of pasta and peeled off the lid, looking for a fork, a napkin, his water … looking at anything but Jersey.
“No. What stands between us is you not sharing anything about your past. I’ve told you everything about mine. I told you I killed a man—”
“No.” He chuckled, while shaking his head. “Max told me you killed a man. Try again.”
“I didn’t deny it.”
“It’s public record, Jersey. There is no denying it.”
The game. It needed to end.
She didn’t have a weapon with her, but she had her fists and a need for revenge that outweighed self-preservation. If she wasn’t afraid of the consequences, then why was Ian Cooper still alive? Did he have to confess?
Yes.
He did. He had to say it. She needed to know why. And how. How does a monster write a song for a homeless girl? How could he feel deserving of the fame and money?
Air … how could he feel deserving of air, of life?
Jersey pushed her half-eaten bowl of pasta to the middle of the table and affixed her gaze to Ian. “When I was fourteen, they placed me in a home with three other foster kids. I was the oldest. For the first time in my life, I felt like I belonged. I felt loved.”
She drew in a shaky breath and let it out slowly. “But more than that, I felt safe. You see, this couple, they weren’t the first to say the words I love you. They were the first to actually do it—love me like parents should love their child. They gave me a family, a family that didn’t have fucked-up secrets. They hugged me, but never inappropriately. They didn’t watch me shower or dress. They didn’t crawl into my bed at night and tell me how special I was for letting them touch me.”
Ian swallowed hard; his face warped with pain.
“I dreamed, Coop. Not just of getting out of a bad situation. Not of anyone dying so I didn’t have to be abused. I dreamed real dreams. Dreams of a future. Friends coming over for sleepovers. Shopping for prom dresses. Being adopted and having real parents. Choosing a college. Getting a job. Buying a car …” She grunted a laugh. “A driver’s license. I dreamed of having freedom. The fucking American dream.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but she wasn’t ready for his meaningless “I’m sorrys.” She didn’t want an apology. Jersey wanted a confession and an explanation. When she watched him take his last breath, she needed to know there was nothing left to say.
“Their names…” she continued before he interrupted “…were Charles and Dena Russell. I should have been Jersey Russell.” She shook her head a half dozen times. “No. Not even that. Not Jersey. Nothing to remind me of how worthless I was to my mother.
“I mean … who leaves their baby at a fire station? And then why show up months later, acting like you’re ready to be a mom when you’re high? Why ruin your child’s chance of being adopted into a good family by holding on to some stupid string of hope that you’re going to get your shit together?”