Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 114211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
“Of course not! I haven’t had a drop since last night at the bar! I’m not—Y-You must be smelling the gasoline on me or somethin’. I swear, I’ve showered twice, even with my roommate’s girly body wash, it still won’t come off or—”
“Just save your breath and go home, Mr. Myers. Out the back door if you can manage it. Not one of them out there wants to see your face. I’ve certainly seen enough of it for a lifetime. I’m gonna be up until 2 AM thinking of ways to make this up to the Arnolds, hosting those heroes in their house.” She smacks her lips. “Tryin’ to put me in an early grave, you and your immaturity, I swear, if my husband were still here …” She doesn’t finish that thought. With a sneer of disgust, she pulls her left foot out from under my shaking hands—I didn’t realize I’d grabbed it in desperation—then marches around me, leaving me still kneeling on the break room floor. I stare down at my hands, frozen, sickened.
The next moment, I’m just plain mad. The apron’s off. So’s my nametag. I avoid eyes as I pass through the kitchen. Word’s gotten around fast. Even Denny’s looking at me, probably feeling like he unintentionally played a role in it, resenting me for that.
Join the damned club. Membership list is as long and wide as the whole town. Everyone in it can throw a party for all I care.
The walk home is punishingly long. I can’t get Bridger’s face out of my mind. The superior glint in his eyes. His chiseled jawline and the way he lifts it when he talks to me. How he treated me in the restroom, all of that condescending gentleman nonsense. Even the way he sawed at that steak instead of just asking for a new one. Couldn’t he have done that? Would it have killed him to ask for another steak? Maybe I would’ve even given up the jig right then, brought him out what he actually wanted, not taken it so far.
I’m not a monster.
Am I?
I drop onto a sidewalk bench halfway home, somewhere past Main Street, then lean back. For half a second, I think of calling up Cole, telling him what happened, and getting his side of things. He always looks at everyone maturely, considers both sides, and gives me this amazingly intuitive assessment of what’s going on. It’s like magic, how he helps me relax and see things for how they are.
But he’s so busy lately. With his guy. With their new house. Even his sweet dog Porridge is too busy for my snuggles.
I’m tired of using them like a crutch.
I could call Juni. She’s got this special, twisted way of making me forget everything and just waltz off to la-la land with her. I’d want nothing more than to do that right now, take off with her and live a life without any worries.
But no phone call is gonna erase Bridger’s face from my mind, la-la land or not.
And that expression he made when he started choking. I stood there like a moron, frozen, watching the life drain from his eyes because I’m an immature man-child who’s spiteful and pettier than a kindergartener that got put in time out for being a brat.
I can’t control myself around him.
I am a fucking brat.
And it’s on this park bench, nearly falling asleep with my head bent back, that I finally make the decision to avoid Bridger at all costs. If I see him, go the other way. He’s trouble. Until he’s outta this town, long gone, that bastard won’t even be a thought in my head, and I’ll be damned if I give him another chance to ruin me.
10
BRIDGER
Can’t stop thinking about it, whole way home.
Even when we’re back at the house and Trey, Cody, and Pete get a bug up their butt to have a spontaneous game night, setting up Clue on the dining room table, I’m shuffling cards distractedly and replaying in my head over and over the insanity of our time at that restaurant.
Pete’s asked me a dozen times if I’m okay. Trey and Cody, too.
Even Cody’s mom kept patting me on the back like I’m in need of therapeutic soothing after my dance with death before she and Reverend Arnold went home—their separate ways, allegedly.
I told them all I’m fine.
But when our game of Clue commences, I get an earful from Trey and Cody anyway, who have stories and more stories about the “rollercoaster” that is Anthony Myers. I hear about something that happened back in high school involving Anthony stealing the prom date of the mayor’s son, then everyone vilifying him. I hear about him wanting to be a vet, then giving up his dream because of bad grades and money. His attempt at joining the Army, which backfired when he injured himself in boot camp. Then his family dog dying just a year ago. I hear more than I want to hear.