Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 53212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 266(@200wpm)___ 213(@250wpm)___ 177(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 266(@200wpm)___ 213(@250wpm)___ 177(@300wpm)
She squints now, on the verge of tears as she fights against the war I’ve started inside her. I get it. I get it so much, and yet, I still have to be the asshole. Because people are watching us now—people, including Holland, who’s evidently returned to the ring for a second round.
Our enemies are too close for comfort and, at this point, may be making moves to preempt me by striking tonight, rather than tomorrow.
I lower my voice. “Please just go home.”
Her eyes narrow. “No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
Fuck. “Jesus, Ky. Now is not the time to be a stubborn pain in my ass.”
Her jaw drops. “What did you just call me?”
Goddammit. Fuck this whole fucked-up situation.
I close my eyes, pleading with myself for patience. “Kylie. I’m begging you. On my metaphorical, grumpy knees, to please, please, go home.”
“You know what?” She huffs, abruptly tugging at the laces of her skates. “Fine. I’m going home. I’m going home and nailing the damn doors shut like a coffin until I escape whatever nightmare’s asshole this week climbed from.”
“Kylie, I—”
“Shut up. Just shut the hell up.” She rips her skates off her feet and tosses them into her bag. Her hoodie is pulled over her head next, and her bag is on her shoulder within seconds.
“I don’t know what your issue is,” she adds, eyes blazing, “but tonight is the last time I let you make it my problem. How about, in the future, just leave me the hell alone, okay?”
She storms past me, but mad is better than dead.
She disappears down the hallway and out into the parking lot.
I hear her car start and the tires roll away from the rink.
And I just stand there, staring at the empty space she left behind. I know that Holland and his cronies are still here. I know I’m on the precipice of an absolute shitstorm for myself and my brothers.
I know all the fucking things.
But she left because I asked her to, and that tells me she has the kind of fight in her that could keep her alive.
It’s a small mercy, but a mercy, nonetheless.
There’s no going back now, and I know tomorrow won’t be like this.
Tomorrow, they won’t ask. They’ll just take.
And I already know what I’m going to have to do before that happens.
Kylie
I’m still stewing two hours after leaving the rink, and God help me, doing exactly as Rook ordered by coming straight home. There’s no food in the fridge, there’s nothing on the TV, and for a Thursday that seemed born of miracles, it’s sure left me foul and fighting in a canoe up shit’s creek now.
“I’m telling you, Alyssa, this guy is ballsy. At first, I thought it was nice that he was always coming to my rescue and inserting himself into my chaos at his own expense, but at this point, it’s like he has some sort of ownership over me. Like he has the power to make my decisions and control my life. I’m fucking done. Done with it, you hear me?” I rant, slamming down onto the sofa and ramming my hand into the bucket of cheeseballs she left behind.
She laughs, the muffled static of her parents’ Connecticut house phone making her sound more nasal than normal, and I cram my mouth full of balls.
“Oh yeah, I can hear you, babe. Your volume is at an eleven on a scale of one to five. And I get it. I do. You’re an independent gal with a lifetime of experience in taking care of yourself because you had to. Some grumpy asshole giving you orders? It’s ridiculous.”
“Yes,” I agree, “it is.”
She snorts before continuing. “But, if I may, without you biting my head off…can I make a hypothesis of my own?”
“I guess,” I snap so harshly it comes out like a bark, and she laughs again.
“Right. Well…what if I told you I don’t think Rook Slater thinks he owns you? That I don’t think he’s trying to control your life or insert himself into your decisions or cross the line. But instead…what if I were to suggest that, maybe, just maybe…he likes you. And all this inserting himself is because he’s jealous.”
“I think you live in a fantasy world of rom-coms and toxic masculinity, Lyss. Sometimes red flags are just red fucking flags.”
“Yes. That’s true. I know better than anyone because I’ve had my taste of a fair share of assholes. “But Rook is…grumpy, sure. Closed off. But he’s never struck me as dangerous. Not until Holland started sniffing and pissing around you like a rabid dog, that is.”
“You know what, Alyssa? Even if that is the case…fuck that. I don’t need some guy going psycho every time one of his rivals dares to look at me. I need a Prince-Charming-type, you know? Romance and flowers and wooing and shit.” I groan before shoving the bucket of balls to the side and letting them slide off onto the floor.