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)
“Then who is paying for it?”
I shrug. “I guess whoever pays my credit card bill.”
My dad’s jaw drops. “You mean me.”
“And doesn’t that make you feel good, Daddy? Helping those women like that?”
He stares at me, completely flabbergasted. “Avery, I swear to God…”
June snickers. “Oh my God.”
“It’s official.” Beau smiles. “Avery is back.”
Neil sighs, runs a hand through his hair, but eventually, he just smiles at me too, laughing softly as he wraps his arms around my mom’s shoulders.
“I love how it took Avery going missing for thirteen days for me to find out that she’s a charity stylist to the rich women of The Pines and I’m footing the bill,” he muses, and June bursts into laughter.
But then her hormones get the best of her, and she starts sobbing.
“June?” my mom asks, and June just lifts her hand in the air briefly.
“I’m fine,” she stutters out between tears, “just happy my best friend is back,” before turning her whole body to bury herself against Beau’s chest.
Beau smiles down at June like she hung the stars and the moon—the way he always looks at her—and my chest squeezes.
I want to see Henry. I want to see him badly.
And as of this moment, I’m done waiting to do it.
“I want to see Henry. Can someone take me to his room, please?”
Beau’s forehead creases with both confusion and apology as he shakes his head. “They discharged him a little bit ago. Ronnie and Mav are driving him home. No one told you?”
No. No one told me.
Evidently, all references to Avery and Henry as a set ended the minute we landed in Miami.
Henry is just Henry, and I’m just me, and I’m starting to wonder if the two will ever get the chance to mix again.
“Speaking of discharge,” my mom says excitedly. “They said you can go home too.”
I nod, considering what that even means. I’m not so sure anymore.
I used to think home was a place. Now, I’m wondering if it might be a person.
Henry
The door to my apartment clicks shut behind me, the sound echoing in the empty space. It feels surreal to be back here. Ten days ago, I’d have killed for this—a hot shower, a bed, clean clothes, and all my comfortable shit.
Now? It feels…hollow. And truly fucking lonely. Which is hilarious, seeing as I practically bribed Ronnie and Mav to leave not ten minutes ago.
I drop the bag my assistant Cara dropped off at the hospital near the door, kick off my shoes, and take a look around.
I bought this condo three years ago—a certified penthouse bachelor pad with an incredible view of the ocean. It was a celebratory purchase when Adrenaline Junkie reached eight figures in revenue and, at the time, a picture-perfect home base for everything I wanted out of life.
Nothing has changed—not the decor, the leather sectional, nor the expensive artwork I let some popular interior designer pick out for me because I thought it’d impress whatever chick I brought home for the night—and yet, it all feels incredibly fucking different.
Crazy how it can be exactly as I left it two weeks ago, down to the massive marble dining table filled with adrenaline-packed posters for our next big marketing campaign scattered across it like badges of honor, and feel, today, like I’ve been dropped off on another planet.
The faint hum of the refrigerator buzzes, the noise freshly grating after nothing but waves, birds, and Avery.
I sink onto the couch, pulling my phone from my pocket. It lights up with a flood of notifications. Texts, emails, missed calls. I swipe through them mechanically, my thumb scrolling past dozens of messages from journalists, clients, and employees. Everyone wants a piece of the story.
Unknown: Henry, can you comment on your survival experience?
Cara: Hey boss, hope you’re feeling better now that you’re home. New phone is being couriered to Avery Banks’s condo as we speak. Call me when you’re ready to debrief. By the way, Larry Meadows from NewsSource (among several other journalists) is requesting an in-person interview. Are you interested in that?
Larry Meadows is one of the most popular journalists on national television. Clearly, he wants the inside scoop on the “the island survivors,” but I can’t deal with any of it right now.
Don’t want to deal with any of it right now.
How can I give some kind of interview about what happened between Avery and me on the island? That feels wrong in every kind of way. It feels like…I’m letting someone else in on our secret. Like I’m being disloyal to Avery.
I turn off the phone and toss it onto the coffee table. My head falls back against the couch, and I close my eyes. For the first time in twenty-four hours, there’s no one around to ask how I’m feeling, no doctors poking and prodding, no friends cracking jokes to distract me. It’s just me.