Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 131271 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 656(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131271 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 656(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
For a moment, the three of them surround me—Hayes at my side, Jacob pressing gentle kisses to my shoulder, and Shawn still catching his breath as he holds me tightly. Their touches are soft now, their movements unhurried, and I feel completely enveloped by their warmth and love.
As the world outside fades away, and all the years we were apart shrink to nothingness, I close my eyes, letting myself sink into the safety of their arms. There’s no fear, no doubt, no secrets left between us, just this moment and the unshakable bond we’ve created from a place of grief and sadness when our hearts were broken, and those sharp pieces could only pierce.
As we lie tangled together, their warmth surrounding me, I let go of that girl and those years.
We can have this. We deserve this. Nothing can break us apart.
39
JACOB
The pill bottle in my hand is light, almost empty, and I hate how badly I want to shake out the last few pills. My fingers twitch like they’ve got a mind of their own, desperate to pop the cap. I don’t need them. It’s just... they help. They take the edge off so I can get through the next practice, the next game, school, whatever life throws at me. But lately, they don’t last as long, and I’m running out faster than before.
I press my thumb to the cap, but before I can twist it open, the door creaks, and on instinct, I shove the bottle under the nearest pillow.
Riley’s standing in the doorway as I force myself to stand and blink rapidly against the brutal wave of pain that blurs the edges of my vision. She stares at me, and I smile, but she doesn’t greet me with happiness like she usually would. Instead, the lines that bracket her mouth deepen.
When she steps into the room, the pounding in my head eases a little. Riley has a way of doing that, making the unbearable bearable. Just the anticipation of her fingers on my scalp, her voice low and calm, like the ocean lapping over a jagged shore, her body a soft place to land. But my anticipation is all wrong. Her eyes narrow, and she reaches over and lifts the pillow before I can stop her. The bottle rolls out, clattering against the bed frame, and her face pales and hardens.
“What are these, Jacob?” She reaches for the bottle, and I grab for it.
“Nothing.” She snatches back her hand, holding the pills out of reach so she can squint at the label.
“This isn’t nothing, Jacob,” she says, her voice rising. “How long have you been taking these?”
“Long enough to know they work.” Anger bubbles up to mask the embarrassment of being caught as weak and dependent.
Not dependent. I’m in control of everything, always.
She stares at me, hurt pinching her soft pretty features. “Why didn’t you tell me or your brothers? Where did you get these from?”
My silence must reveal something because she blanches.
“It’s not a big deal!” The words echo in the room, and when she takes a step back, my chest tightens as guilt mixes with rage.
“It’s a big deal, Jacob. You need to see a doctor not some back street pill pusher.” Her voice is calm and steady, but it carries the eerie stillness of the moments before a storm. The kind of quiet that hums with the weight of everything unspoken, the chaos waiting just beneath the surface. “You can’t just medicate yourself. The number of headaches you’re getting… the severity… isn’t normal. What if it’s something…” She can’t even bring herself to say it.
Something more serious.
Just thinking about the words floods me with panic thick as mud. Footsteps sound on the stairs, and with each thud, panic rises, tightening my throat, strangling my denial, my anger, my desperation.
“What the hell’s going on?” Hayes is here. I didn’t know he was home, so lost in the grip of pain and the question of how to deal with it. Always, how to deal with it.
Riley stares at me with wide, unblinking eyes, willing me to be the one to tell him. The threat rests weightily in her glare. You tell him, or I will.
“It’s nothing,” I say.
Riley hangs her head, and I close my eyes just before she passes the bottle of pills into Hayes’ broad palm. In the silence, he’s doing what Riley did, peering at them, trying to make out the tiny writing on the label, then waiting until he shuffles through what he knows about medication.
“Painkillers?”
“Fuck.” I turn away, unable to face them, and cross the room to the window. The view outside isn’t remarkable, just the usual stretch of buildings and sky, but the air’s cool and clear out there. Out there, I’m free from the weight of expectations and the sting of disappointment pressing down on me, suffocating me. Out there, everything’s a little lighter. A little easier.