Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 102167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Blowing out a breath, I finish dabbing my tears and take my compact out of my purse to check my mascara for runs. With my makeup mostly intact and the mottled red of my earlier skin starting to fade, I storm through the front door like normal, dropping my coat and bag on the tile just inside for our housekeeper Linda to put away, and head straight for my room.
My brother Beau and his friends Henry, Maverick, and Ronnie are all coming down the stairs, though, board shorts and bare chests signaling that they’re headed to surf the sunset like they always do on Saturday nights, and there’s no avoiding them as I’m already on my way up.
“Hey, Ave,” Beau greets, his usual cheerful smile making me roll my eyes. “You’re home early.”
I scoff, powering past the four of them to head for my room, afraid they’ll see my puffy eyes if I linger for too long. “Yeah. Because boys are stupid.”
Beau and Henry come to a stop, Beau reaching out to halt my progress, but Ronnie and Mav keep going, laughing uproariously at something that’s no doubt just as brain-dead as Brandon freaking Worley.
“What happened?” Beau asks, his protective older brother mask flaring rather dramatically. I appreciate the sentiment and solidarity, but truly, right now, I just want to be alone.
“It’s nothing,” I protest, but Beau’s grip on my arm tightens as I try to pull away.
Henry leans casually against the curved wall of our ornate staircase, a toothpick in his mouth and his hair curling around his forehead. He’s smirking in my direction but otherwise silent, and I have to admit, he looks really freaking cool.
Seriously. He’s a pain in the ass pretty much every time I’m around him and their other stupid friends, but right now, he’s like a teenage James Dean or something. Mr. Cool Customer extraordinaire.
“Ave, if he hurt you—” Beau starts, only to be cut off completely by Henry.
“Fuck that guy,” he says, the curse making my thirteen-year-old cheeks burn. “Come out to the beach with us and surf.”
“Get my hair wet?” I rebut. “Uh, no thanks.”
Henry shrugs, all muscle flex and nonchalance. He’s ridiculously built for an eighteen-year-old. When the heck did that happen?
I guess I’ve never even considered one of my brother’s silly friends might be…like hot or something. It’s too much of an oxymoron.
“That’s cool. Come watch, then,” he pushes, and between the smirk and the muscles, my brain short-circuits.
I mean, when did Henry Callahan get so freaking fine?
“Okay, yeah,” I hear myself saying. “Let me just change out of my heels and put on some shorts, and I’ll be down.”
Without an answer, Henry is gone, and in his wake, I’m left with only two things—my do-gooder, overprotective brother Beau, and a new mile-long crush on his best friend.
By the time I make it out to the beach, they’re already in the water. But one glance in Henry’s direction and my fate is sealed—watching Henry Callahan surf without his shirt on just became my new favorite hobby.
January 4th
Henry
Avery’s arm is heavy with sleep as I shift it off my abdomen and onto her hip so I can get up without waking her. The sun’s not up quite yet, but I’m hoping to have better luck with fishing first thing in the morning than I have in the middle of the day.
My dad took me fishing some as a kid, and while I’m not an expert by any means, I still remember that we always left at the ass-crack of dawn to get started because of something about the fish being more active.
After tucking the leaf flap back into place on our makeshift shelter to keep the light from invading and waking up Avery, I pad softly through the sand down onto the beach, picking up the spear from its spot propped against a palm tree on the way. My stomach has stopped rumbling, despite how hungry I know my body is, and the fit of my pants, even though this is only the fourth day we’ve been here, is starting to get looser.
I know from my college obsession with fitness that taking your diet to zero calories suddenly won’t have an immediate crazy effect, but it doesn’t take long to lose a pound or two or three when you’re eating twenty-five hundred calories fewer a day than usual.
Without having a way to predict how long we’ll be here, or if someone is even remotely close to finding us, we need to get a routine down for finding a way to feed ourselves and quick.
And, like it or not, fishing seems to be our only shot at protein.
I know netting of some sort would be much easier than having to hit them with a freaking spear, but so far, I haven’t figured out a material we’d be able to make work. Once again, Tom Hanks has let me down.