Total pages in book: 180
Estimated words: 176012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 880(@200wpm)___ 704(@250wpm)___ 587(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 176012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 880(@200wpm)___ 704(@250wpm)___ 587(@300wpm)
I halt, the words on my lips fading away. What did he say?
It’s like sparklers are fizzing and popping under my skin, up my chest, and down my arms.
He closes his eyes, and I’m afraid to move. To speak.
“I didn’t mean that,” he whispers. “Of course, she mattered.”
But I matter more? I still matter to him?
His Adam’s apple slides down his throat. “Quinn, I don’t remember a lot from when I was a kid, but I remember you,” he explains. “I grew up, knowing what it was to care for a girl—someone’s sister, someone’s daughter. It made me a better man.”
His mouth opens, then closes, his eyes looking conflicted.
“At least, I thought it did,” he murmurs.
I don’t have time to ask to him to explain before he continues. “I didn’t have any siblings or cousins,” he goes on, “but with you I got to learn…to set an example and to be invested in someone’s happiness. Someone smaller and more vulnerable in the world. You affected me in a way no one else did.” He falls silent for a moment. “Quinn, sometimes people just want to connect and not be alone and have a good time. Blow off some steam. You’re not built like that.”
What does he know? He doesn’t know me anymore. Why can’t he see me like he sees everyone else? I’m not an angel. Or superhuman. I want to be touched and kissed hard and breathless, just like everyone else.
I don’t realize that my eyes are filled with tears until one spills over. I swipe it away.
And why the hell did he leave for so long if I was important to him?
“I think I might be,” I say, my throat so tight it hurts. “Built like that, I mean.”
I’d go somewhere with him right now and not be alone, just the two of us, and I don’t care if he’s leaving.
But he asks again, “Where are you?”
So much like my brothers in his duty to keep me away from bad guys. He doesn’t want to open up to me more, because if he did, I’d open this mirror, come out of hiding, and ask him to take me to practice driving tonight. Just the two of us.
I wipe my eyes. “Home,” I lie. “It’s raining. I got a ride from my barista. Tried calling you for one.”
He looks skeptical. “How are you calling me from your phone? Madoc says you left it at the bakery.”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Tell him to update his app.”
He falls silent, looking like he has more to say, but then asks, “Will I see you tomorrow?” Because he wants to leave on good terms with me remembering him well.
“Yes.”
He nods. “Goodnight.”
I hang up without replying and wait for him to leave. I guess I could sneak out through Rivertown, or the hatch in the roof, but I need my bike. I’d risk running into him.
He rises from the table and tucks in the chair, but he doesn’t leave. Walking to the windows, he stands and looks out at the night rain. The strain in his eyes is visible from here as he folds his arms over his chest. The storm outside dances across his face in the lantern light from the sidewalk, and I raise my phone, snapping a picture of him. The only picture of him that’s all for me.
Don’t leave.
Is his life there so much better than us?
But then a vehicle passes outside, and Lucas lets his arms fall as he shoots to the side, out of view.
I freeze. What was that?
I glance out the window, thinking I might see the old, black Dodge, but I catch the tail end of a dark SUV—a Traverse, I think—go by. I don’t recognize it.
Does he know that car?
He looks like he was hiding from it.
His phone rings, and he stares at the screen for several seconds before ignoring the call.
What’s going on?
He leaves through the kitchen, the back door slamming shut, and I wait about two seconds before I flip the latch and climb out. Closing it back up, I run through the shop, spotting his car at the curb out front before I dash into the kitchen, hearing the lock click.
I wait until I hear his car start up at the front of the building before I dash out into the alley, locking up the bakery again. Then, I jump on my bike to follow him.
He could be going home. Or maybe he’s going somewhere I need to see.
Desperate for answers, I pedal to the end of the alley and peek around the corner, his rental car appearing. He takes a right, as if heading to Madoc’s house. Or mine.
As he approaches the curve, about to disappear, I take off, pedaling as fast as I can. Water sloshes under my tires, and rain soaks my hair, but I stand up and pump faster, just enough to stay in view. He cruises faster, speeding by the turnoff for Madoc’s and my neighborhood, climbing into the forest.