Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
His very last message to me was to meet him at the boathouse because he was sick of prom.
That’s it.
Everything else is my frantic messages after he was gone.
So I scroll further and further back, my chest clenched as I read years’ worth of chats with my best friend. Stupid jokes. Dirty jokes. Dumb memes. Dirty memes. Making plans. Confirming plans. And here and there, deeper shit.
Hey. I know it’s the anniversary of your mom’s death. Lemme know if you want to do anything to get your mind off it today. Here for you, Bishop.
Jesus, G. I can’t believe your dad reamed you out in front of everyone like that. I hope you know everything he said was total BS. You’re not a dead end.
My gaze snags on one exchange in particular. It’s cryptic on purpose, but we both knew what I was referring to when I sent him the message.
Me: Thanks for looking out, G. Appreciate you doing that for me. Who tf knows where I’d be if you didn’t.
Gabe: Ride or die, Bishop. You’d do the same for me.
Me: 100%
Fuck. I miss him. I like RJ a hell of a lot, I really do, but Gabe and I have history. We’ve been raising hell since we were little kids. We lost our virginities on the same night at a freshman party, for fuck’s sake, then gossiped about it afterward like a pair of schoolgirls. He’s one of the few people I can truly be myself around.
Gabe, and now Casey.
I feel totally and completely stuck between the two. No wiggle room whatsoever.
When the tightness in my chest becomes unbearable, I text Casey to get this over with.
Me: You awake?
It’s nearly twenty agonizing minutes before she responds. The typing dots blink on the screen then disappear. Twice. Three and four times.
Casey: Yeah.
Me: Sorry if I woke you.
Casey: You didn’t. What is it?
Her abrupt tone catches me off guard. Yes, it’s past midnight, but she said she wasn’t asleep.
Me: Can we meet up?
Casey: It’s late.
Again, that gives me pause. She’s never had a problem sneaking out in the middle of the night before.
Me: Please. It’s important.
The dots blink with indecision. Something’s up with her and it gets all the hairs on my arms standing up.
Casey: Fine. See you in 20.
“You sneaking out?” RJ rolls over in bed as I stand in front of my closet getting dressed.
“Yeah. Going to talk to Casey. Get it over with. I can’t stand thinking about it anymore.”
His bedsheets rustle as he sits up. I glance over, see him running a hand through his rumpled brown hair. Even in the darkness, I can make out his unhappy expression.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Before you go. You should know,” he says. “Sloane told her.”
My heart stops.
Because of course she did. Fucking Sloane.
“You couldn’t have warned me earlier?” I demand.
“I didn’t see her text until now. She sent it when I was already in bed.”
“Awesome. Fucking great. Your girlfriend just made an impossible conversation that much more difficult,” I tell him, pulling on a hoodie. “So thanks for that.”
“Sorry, man, but this one’s on you.”
Sure, I dug this grave. I’ve known for months I was up against the clock and that every day I spent with Casey I was braiding the rope from which I would eventually hang. Still, feeling the empty air under my dangling feet is a little different. The floor’s dropped out, but the fall didn’t snap my neck. Now I’m writhing with hands tied behind my back and watching the faces of everyone gathered stare in horrific anticipation of my last breath.
I have no idea what I’m walking into as I trudge across campus and take the trail into the woods toward Casey’s house. Sloane has snatched away any chance I had of getting Casey to understand I was only trying to help and got in over my head. It’s not like I had some dastardly plan to pose as her beta male best pal to trick my way into her pants. But I’m sure that’s exactly what Sloane’s been putting in her head all night. Brilliant.
For nearly twenty minutes I’m left to stew on it until Casey finds me in the beam of her flashlight. Struck by the moment’s sudden arrival and her eerily silent approach, I’m left speechless. All the preamble I’d hastily written in my head goes blank.
“Casey—”
“Stop.” The sharpness in her voice is a sound I’ve never heard before, and it cuts me off at the knees. “There isn’t anything I want to hear from you.”
“Casey, please—”
“You’re a liar, Fenn. And an asshole. And probably the worst person I’ve ever met in real life.”
She doesn’t let me see her, remaining hidden behind the light that forces me to shield my eyes. But her voice contains the gravelly strain that comes with tears, and it rips me apart knowing I’m the reason she’s crying.