Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 89878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Noah nods, clearly unhappy I’m leaving, but he doesn’t say anything.
I weave through the cafeteria and head straight for the nearest bathroom, locking myself in a stall. My phone buzzes again.
Mom.
I haven’t spoken to her in months, and even then, it was brief—just long enough for her to tell me Lettie had gotten hurt at school. She hadn’t called to check on me, hadn’t cared about the silence between us. And now, all of a sudden, she wants to talk?
I stare at the screen, my grip tightening. I already know what she’ll say—more lies, more excuses. Reasons why she let a man who wasn’t our father rip our lives apart. I was done listening to them.
He loves us. He has good intentions. It wasn’t on purpose.
Bullshit.
Instead of mourning her husband, she opened the door and let a monster in. No mother who truly loved her children would do that.
I shake my head, declining the call, then shove my phone into my pocket and head back to work.
For the third night in a row, I succumb to the same dream. Hands, tongue, filthy words—I’m brought to a level of euphoria that steals my breath. I gasp and shoot up in bed as an arm snakes over my belly.
“Chill…” A voice resounds from my left, and I tense.
“What the hell, Noah? What are you doing in here?”
“Sleeping, George.”
“You can’t be in here.” I attempt to move his arm off me, but he holds me tighter.
“I just need to sleep. I’m not trying anything. Please. Let me sleep.” He sounds so tired. Almost defeated. My shoulders deflate, and I nod.
“Fine. But this is the last time.”
I lay on my side, resting my head on my pillow, and close my eyes, my dream still heavy on my mind. After what feels like forever, I finally find sleep.
The blaring of my alarm wakes me. I reach over to shut it off and twist onto my back, sighing in annoyance. I attempt to maneuver Noah’s arm off me, but he doesn’t budge. “Noah, get up.” I shake him. “Noah—”
“I’m getting up. Jesus.” He stretches and sits up.
“You can’t keep coming in here.”
“Whatever.” He climbs out of my bed and walks out. A beat later, Jackson walks past my door. He gazes into the room, making eye contact, but doesn’t stop.
Great.
I fall back onto the bed. What are you doing, Georgia? I wish I had an answer to that. My phone vibrates on the nightstand, and I grab it, seeing a text from my mom.
Mom: Hi, honey. I was hoping we could talk. Lettie told me you’re spending the summer with your boyfriend. I hope it was okay she shared that. I wish you would come home so we could talk. Anyway, I just wanted to make sure you’re doing well. I love you. Please call me.
If she believes that, we have an even bigger problem. I swipe the message, delete it, and get ready for work.
I’m going to ask Jackson for a ride to work. Hopefully, Noah has already left. It would save me the trouble of dealing with the backlash, but I need to talk to Jackson. The past few days have been killing me, this feeling of being in limbo with him. Pursuing anything with him is crazy. Plus, he made his intentions clear on that matter. But I can’t seem to let it go. Why did he let it happen? He could’ve risked his relationship with his son, all for a one-time thing. Did he enjoy it? Would he let it happen again?
I head to the kitchen. Noah’s leaning against the island, drinking a cup of coffee. No sign of Jackson.
“Sorry to disappoint, but you’re stuck riding with me today,” he says, not lifting his eyes from his phone.
Masking my disappointment, I walk over and fill my mug with coffee. “Why would I be disappointed?”
“I know you probably wanted to ride with my dad.”
I narrow my gaze. “Yeah, because he wouldn’t leave me stranded.”
He has no rebuttal. He knows he’s in the wrong. “Whatever. We gotta go.” Knowing he wouldn’t hesitate to leave me behind, I pour my coffee into a travel mug and follow him to his car.
We step into the office, where Rachel greets us with a polite smile as she informs us that we’ll both be in the sales center again today.
I nod, barely processing her words.
Jackson is avoiding me.
Realization settles heavily in my chest. I should’ve seen the writing on the wall sooner.
This was inevitable.
I keep my expression neutral, swallowing the disappointment clawing at my throat. Message received. And I refuse to sit around waiting for the next blow.
At lunch, I’ll make a call—one I should have made days ago. I saw a post about someone looking for a roommate, and that sounds like the only real escape. I need out. Of this house. Of this situation. Away from him.