Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 34122 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 171(@200wpm)___ 136(@250wpm)___ 114(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34122 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 171(@200wpm)___ 136(@250wpm)___ 114(@300wpm)
We drive in silence all the way back to my house. He stops in front of the driveway. I feel exposed in a way I haven’t since I came to live with my grandparents. But I refuse to let my past ruin this special night.
“I’m not normal,” I admit, turning toward him.
“Who wants normal?” He gives me a soft smile.
“Me?”
“GG, you’re not normal. From the second I saw you I knew you were something completely different to me.”
I can’t help but smile with him. “I had fun tonight.”
“Me too. I’ll get your door.” He hops out, coming around to open it for me. I take his hand, stepping out. He shifts suddenly, pushing me behind him.
“Who the fuck are you?” I poke my head out from behind him and watch the two men in suits pull out their badges.
“Hi, Agent Green.”
“Georgia.” He nods at me. “We need to talk.”
“Okay,” I agree.
Colt turns to face me. “Everything okay?”
I don’t know how to answer him without lying. “I don’t know.” He wraps his arm around me like he doesn't want to let me go.
“We can leave,” he says for only my ears to hear. I think I fell a bit in love with him then.
“I’ll see you later.”
He reluctantly releases his hold around my waist for me to step back.
“Why don’t you head on in, Georgia. Let your grandparents know we’re here.”
“Okay.”
I take one more look back as Colt turns to face Agent Green wondering what he will think of me tomorrow.
Chapter Seventeen
Colt
I might not be the brightest crayon in the box, but a black suit, a badge, and the title agent screams FBI. What the hell does the FBI want with GG, and does it have anything to do with the fact that she says she’s not normal? Is she in witness protection? Nah, that doesn’t make sense. She’s living with her grandparents. Although...what if they’re not her grandparents and they’re FBI too? After all, that one kid said they’d never seen her at the grandparents’ house before, and he wasn’t even aware that they had a grandkid.
“You have a tough game coming up?”
I look up to see Tuck staring at me. “Do I have milk on my face?” I swipe the back of my hand under my chin.
“No. How can it be on your face when you’re dripping it all over the table?” he replies.
I glance down and see a pool of white liquid rapidly speeding toward the edge. “Shit.” I scramble backward and catch the towel that Tuck throws to me. I hurriedly wipe everything up and then re-pour the milk into my cereal bowl. “I wasn’t paying attention.”
“No kidding.” He rolls his eyes. “Is it the Harrisburg batter? The Newton kid? I thought you struck him out three times last game you played.”
“Nah. It’s not baseball.” I tap my spoon against the side of the bowl. In the past, I would’ve kept this concern to myself, but Tuck’s getting older and I know if I keep treating him like a kid, he’s going to get mad at me again, and eventually there’ll be a barrier between us that I can’t tear down. I don’t want that, but I’m also not used to sharing bad shit with him. Is this bad shit though? Fuck, I don’t know. I decide just to lay it all out.
“Cult,” he says after I finish. “She was in a cult.”
“Not witness protection?”
“Nah, because that wouldn’t explain how she doesn’t know anything about anything. Like not knowing what baseball is? Confused by the cafeteria? A person who had a regular high school experience would know that even if they were moved into witness protection. A person who is in some religious cult wouldn’t.”
“You’re right. You’re right.” That would explain a lot of shit about her. She’s worried about not being normal? I’m worried she’s going to find the real world too full of fuckery to want to stick around. I got to protect her more. “I wish I didn’t have the game today.”
“Really?” Tuck’s face is full of surprise. There’s never been a day that I woke up that I didn’t want to play ball, but things are changing. “If the FBI is around then something bad is happening and she’s in danger.”
“Have her come to the game. No one is going to do anything with a couple hundred people around.”
I shovel the rest of the cereal into my mouth as I consider his plan. “She only hangs with Tricia, and Tricia hates baseball.”
“I’ll bring her,” Tuck volunteers.
I start to say that Tricia isn’t the only person who doesn’t like baseball but there’s something serious in Tuck’s voice that stops me. I look him over with new eyes. He’s nearly as tall as me, and he’s filling out. My little brother isn’t the scrawny kid who got bullied in middle school.