Total pages in book: 188
Estimated words: 179812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 899(@200wpm)___ 719(@250wpm)___ 599(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 179812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 899(@200wpm)___ 719(@250wpm)___ 599(@300wpm)
“To worry about things,” he explains, “to take care of them.”
“I’m not—”
He rolls into me then, covers me with his body, settles himself in the cradle of my thighs. Framing my face with his hands, he rumbles, “I’m always so needy for you that I don’t stop to think and you always think too much.”
I clutch his sides, hot and smooth. “What are you talking about?”
His eyes flick back and forth between mine. “You probably took it upon yourself, didn’t you? Keeping this secret for me.” I swallow when I start to understand what he means. He presses his fingers in my cheeks as he continues, “It’s not your secret, it’s mine. And when the time comes to deal with it, I’ll be the one taking care of it.”
“But—”
“No,” he commands, his face grave and determined. “We’re not going to have any discussion about this. There is no compromise here. There’s no two-way street. I’m the one who’ll take the brunt of it if and when our family finds out. I’ll be the one to talk to Snow and explain things if and when I have to. Do you understand? I won’t have you worry about this.” His eyes flicker over my features. “I won’t have you worry about anything. Not anymore. Not even the fucking media. You need to focus on your courses, on what you want to do next semester.”
The Redhead Watch is temporarily gone while the case goes on in court and will likely be gone for a while because these things take time, their team’s publicist explained. Although that’s not to say, their interest in the Thorne family has gone. While I don’t have articles dedicated to me, I see my and Snow’s name crop up here and there. Last time it was the article about the ages of the Thorne brothers and their career trajectory. They stuck Callie, me and Snow at the bottom as an additional paragraph, mentioning we exist too. What sexist assholery.
But I don’t care about that right now. Because my eyes are filled with moisture and I’m trying to get rid of it. It’s hard though, because first, he’s talking. He’s telling me things. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. Yes, it’s not deep or dark or really vulnerable conversation, but it’s a start. It’s a huge start for him. For us. Even though I know there isn’t an us. And second, I feel such relief that he’s in it with me. That it’s not my secret alone. I mean, I knew that and knowing him, he never would’ve wanted me to take the burden alone. But him saying the words means everything.
Not to mention, this makes me realize how far I’ve come. Before, it would be so hard for me to accept help and support. To admit that I even want it. But now, it’s easy. Because he made it so. And because I know, I can see, how important this is for him, to take care of me and all the things, I give in.
“Okay,” I whisper.
He breathes out, his chest moving against mine. Then, “Security cameras aren’t enough.”
I frown. “What?”
“I need to know where you are at all times.”
“I don’t—”
“So I bugged your phone,” he cuts me off.
My heart thuds as I stare at him for a second. “You bugged my phone.”
“Yeah.”
Again, I take a beat. Then, “I don’t…” Finally, it settles over me, what he just said, and I put a hand on his chest to push him away. “You bugged my phone?”
He presses me into the bed. “Calm down.”
I arch under him, trying to throw him off. Just when I think we’re turning a corner, he tells me this. “Calm down. Calm down? Seriously? What do you mean you bugged my phone?”
He clenches his jaw, not letting me have an inch. “What do you think I mean? I put tracking software on it. So I know where you are at all times.”
“Why, because you’re a freaking psycho?”
“Yeah,” he confirms, growling. “And because I’m not here to protect you anymore. So I need to know where you are, or someone needs to know where you are. So they can come save you when your fucking ass gets in trouble.”
“What trouble?” I ask, slapping his chest. “I never get in trouble.”
“Do I need to remind you of those fucking assholes from the other night?”
“Those were your teammates.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“They weren’t even doing anything.”
“Yet.”
I push at him again, clawing at his bare chest. “Do you not… How did you even get my phone? How did you even get into it to put software on? How did you even know what software to put or whatever the hell it is?”
“I stole it,” he announces like he’s so proud. “And my friend walked me through how to crack your pansy-ass passcode and install the software. The data feeds into my phone or his at all times.”