Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 130221 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 651(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130221 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 651(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
Kade and Hunter’s sister A.J. is only nine. The age difference between Kade and her means they’re both growing up alone basically, and with his twin living near Chicago with their grandfather, Kade is essentially an only child now.
“But something I learned was that when they left,” I tell him, “I wanted them back. I resented these kids because I had to share, not only my toys, my house, and my parents, but I also had to change my behavior to accommodate them.” He doesn’t move next to me. “So when they were around, I didn’t feel like myself. Sometimes, I didn’t feel like I knew who I was in the house.”
I had to be different around them. More gracious. More compassionate. Aware. It was hard for a ten-year-old.
“I was confused a lot about my role, my worth…” I say. “But when they left, I missed them.”
“So?”
I feel the emptiness of my bottle and set it down on the table behind me.
“So what?” he asks.
“So Hunter left because he wanted to love you,” I tell him.
Hunter was sick of being compared to Kade, and Kade didn’t really help. After a while, he started feeding his friends. Like they always had to know he was better than his brother. A comment here. A comment there. Just a hint of condescension when he’d speak to Hunter, so Hunter always knew who was really the stronger one.
Hunter had to leave, so he wouldn’t hate Kade anymore.
Kade clears his throat, but he doesn’t reply. Just simply says, “I gotta check on something.”
And he walks away, back into the house.
I miss Hunter, and I wish Kade would admit that he does too. Dylan is the only one who’s made a huge effort to see or talk to Hunter, but even she’s given up now. If someone doesn’t make a move—and I mean a move that goes off like a bomb—we may never get him back.
“Who is that?” someone says.
“New student?” I hear Stoli ask, a hopeful hint in his voice. “Please tell me it’s a new student.”
I look up as “Queen” by Loren Gray starts playing, seeing Stoli and Dirk chuckling. I follow their gazes over to the patio door where Dylan strolls onto the deck, followed by Aro.
I draw in a breath.
Dressed in an electric blue bikini top, she slips her hands into the pocket of her rolled-over jean shorts, strings of the frayed fabric brushing across her golden thighs. Her dark hair is parted in the middle and hangs straight, and she licks her red lips as she inhales a breath and looks around, searching for me.
A lock of hair blows across her neck, and I curl my fingers, wanting to touch it. Tight tummy, long legs, and… I gaze at her body, still feeling all the parts I squeezed last night.
My shorts get tight, and she finally turns, meeting my eyes. She holds them as Dylan takes her hand and pulls her to the food, and I can see the smile in her eyes. Her shoulders relax because she knows I’m close.
“I don’t know, she looks like Amos Cahill,” Dirk says. “Does he have a sister?”
“No idea,” Stoli says, mischief in his tone. “But I’ll take Homecoming.”
“And I’ll take the senior ski trip.”
They both laugh, and I turn, swiping my empty bottle off the table and into the garbage can. “Shut up.”
They dart their eyes to me, tensing. Dirk squeezes the cup in his hand. “Sorry, Hawke.” He looks to her again and then to me, realizing. “Jesus, man, I had no idea.”
Does he really not recognize her from the other night?
She doesn’t look different. She was pretty then.
But I’m guessing they’re not looking at her face.
I head over. I need another beer from the house.
But I don’t go to the house. I walk over to her, about to put my hands on her, so they all stop thinking they’re going to get near her, but I see her smile as she tips her head back and watches a flock of birds pass overhead.
Swooping and soaring, high and flying away, but I wouldn’t know for sure, because I’m just looking at her.
God, she’s so cute.
“What?” she says.
I blink, realizing she’s noticed me.
I collect myself and reach over, grabbing a Gatorade. “Those clothes don’t seem like you.”
“Well, I wouldn’t call them clothes.”
I try not to laugh, but she’s right.
“I covered myself out of necessity, not because I like to, Hawke,” she explains, looking back up at the birds. “It’s not wise for women to draw attention to themselves at Green Street.”
Right.
I guess I thought she liked her clothes. Abhorred feminine stuff. I didn’t even think of how she shields herself, not only for Green Street but for home, as well. I wouldn’t like the idea of her walking around in stuff like this in front of her stepdad.