Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 53529 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 268(@200wpm)___ 214(@250wpm)___ 178(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53529 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 268(@200wpm)___ 214(@250wpm)___ 178(@300wpm)
She wasn’t happy, but how can I blame her? After being best friends since the second grade, we finally admitted we had feelings for each other right before I had to fake my death. It killed me to let her go, but all sorts of bad people would use her to get to me if they knew I was alive.
“So what do I do now?” I ask Kyle.
“You let me handle it. And stay. The hell. Away. From River.”
“Yeah. Sure. Okay.” I tilt my head toward the clear blue sky. Its magnificent color is lost on me. So is this tropical paradise I call home. They say that time heals all wounds, but I’ve loved River since we were little. And as far as I know, that kind of love isn’t an injury or a medical condition, so what’s there to heal? I fucking miss her. She’s everything to me.
“I mean it, Huff. I can’t protect you if you start showing your face around.”
He’s right, but… “Where does this end, Kyle?”
“What do you mean?”
I kick at a loose board sticking up at the end of the dock. “Is this my life? Hiding. Cowering. Alone forever?”
Kyle growls with frustration. “How the hell should I know, Huff? I’m just trying to keep you safe. In a few years, maybe the world’ll forget about you, and then we’ll see.”
That pretty much sums it up; my future is a giant black hole. Still, I gotta be grateful for Kyle and everything he’s doing for me.
“Thanks for being here, bro.” At least I get to fight another day. And I’m also free of Morris’s drug. Took months to wean me off it so my heart wouldn’t explode, but I made it. So did twenty-nine out of the forty students who’d been tricked into taking a different version of Morris’s street drug—way more watered down than what I was exposed to, but still highly dangerous.
“Don’t mention it,” Kyle says.
“What will you say to River?” I ask.
“I’ll tell her what she needs to hear. Hey, gotta go. We’re back in session at one o’clock.” Meaning, Congressman Kyle Ferris doesn’t want to talk about it. He thinks he’s a god because he was the youngest person in the history of our state to get elected to the role. Now he’s twenty-nine, eight years older than me. Still thinks he’s a god.
“Just keep me posted on River, ’kay?”
He ignores my request. “I’ll be in touch in a few weeks. Keep your head down, little man.”
Little? Hardly. The call ends, and my head spin begins. Why the hell don’t I have more self-control? I’m supposed to be superhuman. I have fucking powers! Yet I can’t keep it in my pants when it comes to River.
No, I didn’t screw her. In my dreams. No, really. I literally hallucinate twice a week, seeing her here with me. Then I snap out of it, and that urge to be with her drives me to check on her, like I did the other night. Not good.
I have to let her go once and for all.
CHAPTER TWO
I don’t hear from Kyle for the next month, which is normal. Also normal is that I can’t get River out of my mind. I’m wondering what Kyle said to make her believe she didn’t really see me in her bedroom that night.
Does she feel like she’s going apeshit and dreamed it up? Did she tell him to fuck off because she knows what she saw?
Does any of this matter?
Because I’ve already made up my mind. I have to put her behind me. I have to love her more than I miss her. Can’t be a selfish prick anymore.
I spend the morning exercising—pushups, swimming two miles across the lake, sit-ups, and weights. None of it makes one shred of difference on my physique because my body is perfect. That’s not me bragging. It’s a side effect of my condition. I only exercise to calm my mind and drain away my aggressive energy. Not an easy task.
After my workout, I splurge and order a case of Pacifico beer and a pizza from the guy who’s basically the local DoorDash, taking grocery orders or delivering takeout to locals from the main town about thirty minutes away. He only takes cash and charges ten percent. He also doesn’t ask questions or give a crap who you are.
With my curtains drawn to keep out prying eyes—not that anyone comes around often—I’m knee-deep in beer and sitting on my brown, beat-up sofa, watching the national robotics competition, when my phone makes that special sound for Kyle. It’s sort of a siren combined with a boat horn. Bwowww! Bwowww! Honk, honk!
I grab my cell from the coffee table. It’s a text.
Kyle: I’m sending a helicopter. Be ready in twenty.
Kyle’s evacuating me? The five slices of pizza I just ate bubble up my throat along with my six beers. My brow instantly gets all sticky with sweat. Blood rushes through me, sending pinpricks to my extremities. What the hell happened? How was I found out?