Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
I wish I’d known, wish I’d been there for her. I could have stopped this entire ordeal dead in its tracks. Kept her from leaving. Now, I’m not sure what’s worse. Wondering this whole time what made her leave, or understanding now that if I’d just been there, we wouldn’t have lost the last year of our lives together.
“The next morning, I woke up with a monster hangover and a perfect memory of what I’d done. Every terrible moment of my total meltdown. It would’ve been less mortifying to set his cruiser on fire. At least then I’d still have had my self-respect. I couldn’t bear the shame and regret. Not for that skeezy douchebag, but for storming into that poor woman’s house and traumatizing her kids. Kayla didn’t deserve that. She was a kind woman who’d always been nice to me. Her only fault was being married to an asshole and not knowing any better.”
“I’d have killed him,” I tell her, now seriously regretting I didn’t take my shot when he had her on the boardwalk. “Beat him within an inch of his life and dragged him out to sea behind a boat.”
The urge to hop on my bike and find Randall is almost irresistible. In seconds, a montage of brutal fantasies spin through my head. Knocking every tooth out of his skull. Snapping his fingers like matchsticks. Putting his nut sack under the rear tire of my motorcycle. And that’s all for starters. Because absolutely no one lays a goddamn hand on my Genevieve.
I hate what he’s done to her. Not just that night, or this latest power trip, but the way she’s resigned herself to defeat, the exhaustion in her voice. It rips me up inside and I can’t stand it. Because there’s nothing I can do. Short of kicking his ass and spending the next twenty years in prison, I don’t know how to fix it.
“I wish you’d told me,” I say quietly.
“I—” She stops for a beat. “I didn’t tell anyone,” she finishes.
Yet I have a suspicion she’d been about to say something else.
“It’s a big part of the reason why I left,” she admits. “Not only him, but his wife and those kids. I couldn’t stomach walking around town knowing people would hear about what happened, how I made a first-rate ass of myself and ruined that family.”
“Oh, screw that.” I shake my head emphatically. “To hell with him. You did his wife a favor. And better those kids find out sooner than later that their dad’s a bastard. Trust me, the prick had it coming.” I’ve got no sympathy for him, and neither should she.
A half-hearted yeah is all she mutters in response. And all I want is to make this better for her. Take away the garbage that’s clogging up her head. Help her breathe again. Then it occurs to me, I haven’t been much help tonight. Her evening had gone to hell before Randall even got there, and that’s on me.
“I’m sorry,” I say roughly. “For crashing your date. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
“You don’t say.”
“I’m not sure I ever am when it comes to you. Truth is, my head hasn’t been right for about a year now.”
“I can’t be responsible for your happiness, Evan. I can barely account for myself.”
“That’s not what I’m saying. When you left, my whole life changed. It would be like if Cooper suddenly disappeared. A huge piece of me broke off and was just gone.” I scrub a hand over my face. “So much of me was wrapped up in us. And then you came back, and it’s got me all twisted up inside. Because you’re here, but you’re not really back. Not like it was. I don’t know how to fit everything into place the way it was before, so I’m just walking around all out of sorts.”
Agony lodges in my throat. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been a goner for this girl. Turning myself inside out to keep her attention. Always terrified that one day she’d realize I was a loser who wasn’t worth her time, figure out she’s always had the option to do better. Last year, I thought she’d reached that conclusion, but it turns out I was the idiot thinking her leaving had anything to do with my dumb ass.
“I’m not trying to hurt you,” she says softly.
Silence falls over us. Not strained or uncomfortable, because it’s never that way with me and Gen, even when we want to murder each other.
“I remember the first time I knew I wanted to kiss you,” I finally say, not quite sure where the sentiment even came from. But the memory is clearer than day. It was the summer before eighth grade. I’d been making a fool of myself for weeks trying to impress her, make her laugh. I didn’t know yet that’s how crushes start. When the balance tips from friendship to attraction. “A few weeks before we started eighth grade. We were all out there diving off the old pier.”