Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 135522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
“Woo, yeah! Fuck ‘em in the asshole! Go, go, go! Run, baby, run!”
Startled, Dean drops the apple in the sink, sighs with great aggravation, then calls out: “Anthony, do you mind toning it down out there? Cole and I are trying to have a mature conversation, and now I have to wash my apple all over again because it—”
“What? Can’t hear you.”
Dean takes a patient breath. “I said—”
“Yeah, run! Woo, baby, fuck me, that was a close-call!”
Unable to stand another second of it, Dean sets his apple on the counter and mutters a quiet, “Excuse me,” before heading off down the hall back to the lounge, where I start to hear the tense beginnings of another one of their quarrels. I consider following Dean into the room to act as some kind of mediator, but honestly, I have enough on my mind waiting for a certain someone to reply to my abundance of unanswered texts.
A certain someone I really wish was here right now.
I move from the kitchen to another short hall that leads to the main house, right near the study where we all gathered weeks ago for our first meeting with Malcolm. Next to the study is a staircase where I take a seat on the bottom step and pull out my phone. I’d already sent him several messages asking if he needed me to come get him, or needed help, or if he had an ETA. So I opt to be more direct in confronting my concerns and type simply: Are you okay?
I stare at my phone, waiting for a response.
Then: “Are you okay?”
I snap my eyes up, surprised by the question—only to find TJ standing at the banister up above, a kind and curious expression on his face. He looks unusually dressed down, his hair messy, in a loose tank top and gym shorts.
I quickly rise from the step. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to come all the way out here.”
TJ chuckles. “You’re not imprisoned in the guest wing, y’know. You guys can go wherever you want.”
“Thanks, TJ.” I smile up at him. “What’re you doing home, by the way? Don’t you have classes?”
“I left campus in the afternoon to catch y’all’s final rehearsal. My mom said Mrs. Strong was a bit stressed with everything, and my presence would be ‘very much appreciated’. I don’t think she even noticed.” He laughs. “Anyway, I don’t have classes on Fridays this semester, so that gives me an extra-long weekend.” He shakes his head. “You sure are impressive, by the way. I don’t think I’d dare do half the amazing stuff you did out there tonight.”
“It’s all for fun and to put money into the town,” I say with a light shrug. “I’m not sure I’d call my talent impressive or amazing, but if it entertains the crowd and gets them to throw money …”
“Well, you did have a nice talent, but that’s not exactly what I was calling amazing or impressive.” He gives me a suggestive look.
Oh. He’s talking about the Speedo. “I’m not quite sure what’s so amazing about banana-hammock swimwear,” I repeat, “but if the crowd likes it, that’s better for us all.”
“The crowd most definitely will like it,” he says with a giggle. “Hey, what’s got you out here on your phone, anyway? I was in the kitchen earlier and thought I heard yelling. I almost went to the guest wing to check.”
“Oh. That was probably Anthony watching baseball.” I frown as I peer down at my phone. Still nothing. “I think I just needed a bit of space from the guys. They’re fighting again.”
“I see.” TJ frowns, crossing his arms on the banister. “I heard they’re not best friends.”
“You heard correctly.”
“Y’know what it sounds like they need?” He slaps the banister with determination. “A party, that’s what.”
I peer quizzically at him as he starts coming down the stairs, practically hopping. “Uh …”
“C’mon, I’ll solve all their issues. Let’s go.” TJ throws an arm over my shoulders and leads me right back to the guest wing.
I’m cringing at the idea of what we’ll find. That TJ will witness the worst of what we’ve had to put up with over the course of the past several weeks. That the second we enter the lounge, we will have to dodge a very expensive piece of airborne art flung our way by a drunken Anthony. That the two of them will be squared off on opposite ends of the couch wielding artwork for weapons.
Instead, we enter to find the pair of them on the couch.
Hugging.
And sobbing uncontrollably.
“I d-d-don’t know why I g-g-get like this,” cries Anthony.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” says Dean, patting him on the shoulder. “We all have our demons, we all do.”
“B-B-But my demons are so f-f-fucking ugly …”
“If my Cherie were here, she’d say we’ve got to have patience with each other—and with ourselves most of all.”