Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
I start to doze off when the covers are yanked off my body. I fling my arm out again, trying to hit my brother, and before I can open my eyes, I’m hit square in the face with a wave of ice-cold water.
“What the fuck?” I shriek, rolling out of the bed and sputtering. I’m soaked from head to toe.
I push my wet hair out of my eyes and see Rafferty standing there with a face full of smug satisfaction and an empty pitcher in his hand.
“I cannot believe you just threw water on me,” I snarl. “What the hell?”
“You’re up,” he says with a firm nod, holding the now-empty pitcher like a trophy. “Mission accomplished.”
“I’m going to kill you,” I threaten as I look around for something to throw at him.
“Yeah, yeah.” He’s unfazed, stepping back with a casual shrug. “But first, get your ass to the kitchen. We’re having a conversation whether you want to or not. Coffee’s ready.”
Going back to bed is out of the question, seeing as how it’s soaked. I quickly pull off all the bedding but the mattress is quite wet. Seething, I stomp into the bathroom, my icy, damp pajamas clinging to me uncomfortably. I strip out of them, dry off, and throw on a hoodie and leggings. My irritation builds with every movement, but I know Raff won’t let this go until I face him.
When I finally shuffle into the kitchen, my pain-in-the-ass brother is at the table, his expression grim. Two mugs of coffee await, steam curling from the rims.
“Sit,” he says, nodding to the chair across from him.
I plop into it with a huff, wrapping my hands around the warm mug. “Did you have to be so dramatic? And why couldn’t you wait until a decent time to get me up?”
“It’s almost fucking noon, Farren,” he says incredulously. “And I don’t have time for you to decide to stop sulking and hiding away from all your problems. I’ve got shit to do and a life to lead, and I can’t do it while you’re hiding in your room like a brat.”
My jaw drops. He’s really pissed and not pulling any punches.
He leans back in his chair, arms crossed, his eyes boring into me. “I want to know what the hell happened last night. Why did you freak out? And why are you so determined to screw things up with North?”
My grip tightens on the mug. “It’s none of your business.”
“The hell it isn’t,” Rafferty shoots back, his voice rising. “You’re my sister. Of course it’s my business. And it’s our parents’ business too. We’ve spent years watching you run away from your problems and never living up to your potential. I’m done tiptoeing around you, Farren. You’re going to tell me what’s going on and why you fail at everything you ever try.”
I glare at him, hurt and humiliated to have my failures called out so coldly. He’s never done that. My parents either and it’s humbling.
Still, I take the defensive. “You don’t get to lecture me.”
“The hell I don’t.” He says, his voice hard. “You’ve got these walls up so high and so thick, no one can get through. And last night, you lost it over a stupid bet—”
“It wasn’t stupid!” I snap, cutting him off.
“Then explain it to me!” he fires back. “Because from where I’m sitting, you’re throwing away the best thing that’s ever happened to you, and for what? Some vague excuse about not wanting to be tied down? That you only do casual? That’s bullshit, Farren. And you know it.”
My jaw clenches as I stare at the dark surface of my coffee. “I don’t owe you an explanation.”
“Yes, you do,” Rafferty counters. “I’m your brother. I’ve spent my whole fucking life protecting you, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to sit here and watch you self-destruct without a fight.”
I shake my head, biting back the emotions threatening to spill over. But Rafferty doesn’t let up.
“Who hurt you?” he asks, his voice quieter now, but no less firm. “Because I know someone did. Someone messed you up so bad you can’t trust anyone, and I want to know who it was. What happened?”
“Stop,” I whisper, my throat tight.
“No,” Rafferty says, shaking his head. “Not until you tell me. Was it an ex? Someone at work? At school?”
The last word makes my chest seize. School. The memory crashes over me like a wave, dragging me under. The laughter, the humiliation, the shame—it all comes rushing back, vivid and raw.
“Farren,” Rafferty says. “Talk to me.”
I slam my mug down on the table, the sound sharp and jarring in the quiet kitchen as coffee sloshes over the edge. “Fine!” I snap, my voice trembling. “You want to know? Someone hurt me. Very badly. In high school. Happy now?”
Rafferty stares at me, his expression a mix of shock and horror. “Were you…?”