Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 164705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
I rolled my neck, cracking my fingers. “As if you fucking mean it.”
He switched the motor back on, turning the pontoon back toward the lake house. “Find someone else to untwist your fucking panties. You little crybaby sh—”
He gunned the engine back to life just when I caught the edge of his shirt, pulling him backwards and slamming him against the deck. He thrashed and went for my neck. I pounded his left cheek, catching his jaw.
Seb spat blood on me, laughing manically. “God, you are such a loser.”
He let his head fall back.
“What the fuck, Seb?” I seethed. “Why are you being such an asshole?”
“Because you made me one,” he roared. “You’re always such a good boy, Oliver. Steady girlfriend. Good grades. Responsible. Goofy. Everyone’s friend. Do you know what it takes to get noticed as the second child?”
I drove another fist into his face, but he dodged, ducking his head sideways and grabbing my knuckles. He twisted my wrist inward, flipping us so he now mounted me.
“I needed to be better at sports, better at school, better at everything,” Sebastian spat out, locking me to the deck by the elbows. “I constantly need to upstage you to even remind them that I am alive.”
The pontoon drove aimlessly around the lake at high speeds. Neither of us went for the wheel. Seb’s fingers locked on my neck. He didn’t squeeze hard enough to kill me, but he did do his best to scare the shit out of me.
And now I got it.
The tension looming between us the entire summer.
Sebastian was sick and tired of my presence, like I was sick and tired of his. Yes, he’d upstaged me with his brilliance. But Dad adored me. Not because of my grades or my sports or my performance. But because of the person I was.
Because I was faithful to one girl, like he was to Mom. Because I enjoyed playing Jenga and Uno with the fam instead of going out.
Because I was … me.
Lovable, reliable Oliver.
“Let go of me,” I coughed out, choking on whatever breath I still had in my lungs.
Seb didn’t let go. He just stared at me with his nostrils flared, with his eyes dead, with his mouth flat. And I knew it then. I knew whatever it was, it was a long time coming.
I took a deep breath, drew my knees to my chest, and kicked him off me with all the momentum I had. Seb flew across the boat, knocking against the railing. His face marred with surprise as he toppled backwards over the short railing, falling with a splash into the lake.
I scrambled up to my feet, laughter stuck in my throat. There was no poetic justice better than knowing the little shithead would have to swim his way back to shore. He could do it. Everyone on his rowing team clocked wicked freestyle times, and the dock couldn’t be more than a few minutes out.
But that was before I heard it. The unmistakable grinding sound of meat getting chopped. Something got stuck in the heavy-duty motor. The boat stalled. I lurched forward as it lost speed, gliding through the water with its remaining momentum.
I ran to the transom, peering over the edge. Oh, fuck. Red. So much red. I couldn’t see my brother. He must’ve gone under.
“Shit,” I hissed, launching myself at the wheel.
I cut the engine. It screeched to a stop. I waited for the float to be completely still before I jumped inside the lake headfirst, clothes still on. My pulse rang between my ears. I didn’t know if I could do it. If it was too late to save my brother.
I dove in with my eyes open, waving my hand to clear the swirls of blood. The second it diluted into the lake water, I noticed Sebastian. He hung from the propeller, almost glued to it.
At first, I was almost nauseous with relief. I inventoried his arms and legs, still attached to his body. He clutched onto the propeller for dear life, so as not to fall, which meant he was alive. I swam toward him, clasping his torso under the armpits and pulling him up.
I panicked at his weight, but the adrenaline gave me strength.
“Christ, you’re heavy.” I dragged him onto the stern like a fat, dead fish. “What are mom and dad feeding you?”
He didn’t answer. I flipped him over on his back. That’s when I saw it. His face. Or lack thereof.
Shit, shit, shit.
The propeller got him bad. Chunks of his face had split open. Cracked right in two. A cheek. Parts of his forehead. Everything was red, full of blood, and still, I could see that his face was not his face at all. His hairline started somewhere in the middle of his skull.
And he didn’t answer me.