Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
“What happened?” he pushes.
“No. My life is none of your business anymore. You don’t get to show up here and demand anything from me. So, if that’s the only reason you came, you can go now.”
“Of course it’s not the only reason.” He reaches for me, but I point the bat at him, using it to define the demilitarized zone between us. “I’m worried about you. Whether you think I’m allowed to or not isn’t the point. I can’t help that I care.”
“Do you not hear yourself?” A bitter, sarcastic laugh bubbles out of me at his audacity. “Since you left me lying wet and unconscious on the ground in the pitch-black that night, you haven’t once stopped to consider how I feel about anything. That’s your problem.”
“Casey.” His face falls. Part of me likes it.
“The truth hurts, huh?”
“All I’ve done is think about you.” His voice is rough. Shaky. “And I’ve made some huge mistakes. I accept that. I’m not asking you not to hate me. Be angry. But also, forgive me.”
“Oh my God. It’s like you live in a pretend world where consequences don’t apply to you.”
In what imaginary realm does he think we come back from this? That anyone would accept what he did and just offer a mulligan and move on?
“This isn’t like cheating, Fenn. You didn’t kiss another girl at my sweet sixteen. You left me to die and lied about it.”
He opens his mouth to cut me off, but I stop him.
“No, wait. Worse than that. You did all that, and then schemed your way into my life, knowing what you’d done. That’s some level of sociopathic I can’t even get my head around.”
He huffs a noise of exasperation at me and turns away to pace. “You make it sound like I had some dastardly plot the whole time. You think I could have planned it this way? I’ve been scared shitless since the second I saw that car sticking out of the water. I’ve been running on adrenaline and instinct ever since.”
Fenn pauses in front of my dresser. In the mirror I watch him notice the dried leaves and wildflowers tucked into the frame. Mementos from our walks.
Now grim reminders of how gullible I was to trust him.
“What’s the matter?” I ask, unable to stop from mocking him. “Awfully quiet over there.”
“I came to check on you that first time,” he says hoarsely, “when I showed up at your door, because I had to know you were okay. That you were recovering. But when I saw you, it ripped my chest open. You were pale and thin and looked like you hadn’t slept in weeks. There was this darkness over you. It killed me knowing it was because of that night and I should have done more. I thought, maybe, it would make up for something if I could be there for you. I could do some kind of penance.”
“So now I’m your charity case, is what you’re saying. Well, I’m letting you off the hook. You’ve more than paid your debt. Please spare me from any more of your guilt.”
“Fuck!” He roughly drags his hands over his face. “Why do you have to act like you don’t know how I feel about you? I’m not here for my conscience, Casey.”
“Then get to the point. I still have no idea why you came.”
“Because I need you to forgive me. I miss you.”
A piece of my heart splinters off. As much as I hate him, there’s still a part of me that doesn’t hate him. A part of me that misses our walks. Misses the way it feels to have his warm, hungry lips pressed against mine.
Fenn has always been able to see right through me, and he does so now. “You miss me too,” he says softly.
“No,” I lie.
“You miss me.”
He takes a step closer. I take a step back.
My fingers tremble around the softball bat, and his blue eyes drop to it.
“Put the bat down, baby.”
A sob catches in my throat. I think this might be the first time he’s used that endearment, and it succeeds in breaking off another chunk of my brittle heart.
“Don’t call me that,” I order.
“Case. Put it down.”
When I still refuse, he closes the distance between us and yanks the bat from my hand. He drops it on the floor, and then his hands capture my face. Gently but with intention.
“I’m sorry I hurt you,” he says, expression swimming with regret. “Forgive me.”
“No.”
He lowers his head, his lips a mere inch from mine. “Please,” he murmurs before brushing a kiss over my mouth.
My first instinct is to fight him. Kick him in the balls and toss him out my window. Instead, I capitulate to weakness. I wrap my arms around his back and grab fistfuls of his hoodie, opening my mouth to let his tongue taste mine.