Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
I smile, wishing he was here, but in just a few short weeks, I’ll be staying with him and starting college in River’s Edge. The line goes silent for a second and I think he’s hung up, but then I hear him again.
“Oh, I almost forgot.” He clears his throat, and I groan, knowing what’s coming next. “Haaaaappy birthday to you,” he sings, his raspy voice obnoxious and loud. “Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, dear Allie. Happ—”
His singing stops abruptly, followed by a curse, and my heart nosedives into the pit of my stomach. It all happens in a split second—the sound of tires skidding, metal colliding with metal, glass shattering, my dad’s anguished scream. Then, I hear nothing at all other than my heart pounding in my ears.
“Dad!”
I shake the memory from my mind, focusing on the sleeve I’m stitching. It’s been eight months since the accident. For the first couple of months, I holed up in my room, doing a whole lot of nothing. I missed my start date at Kerrigan University, and the few friends I did have dropped me when I wasn’t fun anymore. My mom was too lost in her own grief to give a shit about me—even though they had been divorced for years—and quickly jumped headfirst into a new relationship.
When my mom informed me that she was moving to Hawaii with her latest victim, another one of those fun little unexpected moments, I knew it was time to move on—as if I had a choice in the matter.
I tie off the thread before holding up the jacket to inspect my handiwork. I slide my arms inside the sleeves, pulling it over me. Grabbing onto the handle of my suitcase, I take one last look at my childhood room, at the posters, drawings, and lyrics plastered on every surface of my black-painted walls. This feels like one of those defining moments my dad spoke of. The only question is, will I sink, or will I swim?
* * *
“LATE NIGHT?” MY SISTER, LO, asks, arching a brow at me from the other side of the bar from where I’m sitting. It felt like I had only just passed out when she barged into the room she keeps for me at her place, demanding I come have breakfast at Blackbear—the bar slash restaurant where she works—so we could hang out before I leave. Still half-drunk, I grabbed my bag and followed her out to the car.
Lo dumps a bucket of ice into the ice bin, and the sound has me clenching my eyes shut. She chuckles, shaking her head.
“No more than any other night.” It was Sully’s birthday and my last weekend in River’s Edge for a while. Come Monday morning, Coach is going to ride my ass and it’s back to school with little-to-no booze, no fights, no parties, and no drugs. In a nutshell, no fun.
“Where’s your friend?”
I smirk, remembering last night’s festivities. Last time I checked, he was sandwiched between two naked coeds.
“Judging by the look on your face, I don’t even want to know.” Lo laughs, sliding a glass of ice water toward me.
“He’s…occupied.” I’d be surprised if he was able to peel himself out of bed this early after last night.
“You gonna see Henry before you take off?”
My jaw tenses. “Probably not.” It’s not exactly a priority to see the man we thought was our father up until recently. He took off when I was a kid, leaving Lo and me with an unfit mother and a whole host of daddy issues. When shit hit the fan back in Oakland, Lo moved us out here to stay with him, only to find out he wasn’t our real dad after all.
Good times.
“He’s trying, you know.”
“So am I.” Trying to change the fucking subject.
Lo gives me her big puppy dog eyes and reaches under my hood, mussing up my hair like I’m a kid. When you grow up like we did, it’s hard not to resent the adults who did a shit job protecting you. And blood or not, Henry walked out on us instead of taking us with him.
“Shit, the food truck is here,” Lo says, already heading toward the back of the restaurant. “Be right back. And don’t leave without saying goodbye.”
I nod, giving her a thumbs-up, and the door chimes, drawing my attention toward a girl with headphones over her ears. A Nirvana shirt peeks out from under her denim jacket with a fuck-ton of patches sewn on. Elbows propped on the bar top, I study her. She’s in her own world, bobbing her head to the music only she can hear as she approaches. She stops about a foot away from me, fishing around in the bowl of Dum-Dums on the bar, oblivious of my presence before settling on one. Butterscotch. She peels the wrapper off and stuffs it into her jeans pocket before wrapping her lips around the sucker, making my dick twitch at the sight.