Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 51243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 256(@200wpm)___ 205(@250wpm)___ 171(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 256(@200wpm)___ 205(@250wpm)___ 171(@300wpm)
I drove aimlessly through the neighborhood, the tires crunching over gravel, headlights cutting through the fog. Every street looked the same—quiet houses, sleeping families, people whose lives weren’t splitting in half tonight.
The more I drove, the heavier my chest felt. I didn’t want to cry. I didn’t want to feel anything. I just wanted noise.
So I revved the engine harder, took a corner too fast, and let the wind sting my face until it burned.
That’s when movement caught my eye—
A lone figure sitting under the yellow glow of the convenience-store sign, knees tucked up, ice cream in hand, like the world hadn’t just ended for the rest of us.
Audrey Parker.
For a split second, I almost wanted to tell her what happened.
Then the words curdled in my throat. Rage, grief, whatever it was—it flared bright and bitter.
She had no idea what had just imploded inside my house, and I wasn’t about to tell her. But I needed somewhere to put all that hurt.
And she’d always been the easiest place to start.
I pulled into the parking lot and killed the engine, gravel crackling beneath the tires.
“I don’t see what you could be smiling about,” I said. “Your life sucks.”
“That’s the best you have?” She arched a brow. “Circle around the lot, think of something a bit more cutting, and try me again.”
I blinked.
“Go on.” She licked her ice cream. “I have faith in you, asshole.”
I narrowed my eyes, but I did as she said. Then I circled around three more times before parking again.
“You may not have buck teeth anymore, but you’re still ugly,” I offered.
“What?” She snorted. “Did your brain reset to sixth grade? What the hell is that?”
“I want you to be miserable.”
“I usually am whenever you’re near,” she said. “I’m throwing you a lifeline here. I need to feel something.”
“I hate you, Audrey.”
“Go home, Taylor.” She rolled her eyes. “Refresh your cruelty settings and come at me with something harder tomorrow.”
“I thought you were grounded,” I said. “I wonder how your parents would feel if I called and told them you snuck out.”
“You wouldn’t fucking dare.”
“I would.” I pulled out my phone. “As a matter of fact, I think I’ll do that now.”
I’d stepped off the four-wheeler before I could even finish the threat. Gravel crunched under my shoes.
“Ugh!” She lunged toward me, knocking my phone to the ground. “Why the hell are you so effin—”
“My parents are getting a divorce.” The words rushed from my mouth.
Her eyes widened. “I’m sorry, Taylor.”
“Don’t be,” I said. “The last thing I need is you being nice to me.”
“I’m not being nice to you at all.” She scoffed. “The sorry is for your mom.”
“Good.”
She returned my phone and pushed up from the ground.
“I should get home.” She sighed, then hesitated when I didn’t say anything. “Aren’t you coming?”
“What?”
“It’s super late,” she said quietly. “You probably don’t want to go back there right now. You can stay in my treehouse for a while if you like.”
“I don’t want your sympathy, Audrey.”
“I need to actually catch you going in there on video,” she said. “Since you lied about ruining my stuff in there last time, this is a win-win for us both.”
I gave her a blank stare.
“I’ll hold off on snitching for a month.” She shrugged. “But that’s as long as I’m willing to wait before paying you back.”
“You could always forgive and forget.”
“If it were anyone but you, I’d consider it.”
“Likewise…” I smiled and stood to my feet.
“How did you get out here?” I asked.
“I walked.”
“Bullshit.”
“I did.” She shrugged. “I had an audiobook to keep me company.”
“Want a ride back?” I pointed to the four-wheeler.
“Sure.”
She climbed on behind me, her hands clutching my shirt as we rode through the quiet streets. And like the conniving person she was, she motioned for me to cross the yard, giving her bedroom camera a perfect view of me “trespassing.”
As I was unrolling a mat, she joined me inside. Then she tossed me a blanket and a pack of Oreos.
Lying next to me, she stared up at the porthole above us.
“I’d never seen my mom cry before tonight,” I said. “My dad cheated on her, and I don’t think she’ll ever be the same…”
“She might end up being better.”
“How could you possibly think that?”
“Because she’ll never let anyone hurt her like that again, and she knows the truth about promises.”
I looked over at her, confused.
“They’re just words with good intentions,” she said. “They’re still capable of being broken.”
Silence.
“Hey, Audrey?”
“Yeah?”
“I can make you a promise that I’ll never break.”
“Don’t threaten me with your suicide and no follow-through.”
“I promise I’ll hate you forever.”
“I’ll hold you to that…”
For a long time after that night, I believed I meant it.
Until her name started sounding a lot more like a promise I never should’ve made.
TRACK 23. HITS DIFFERENT (5:13)
AUDREY
That kiss never happened.
At least, that seemed to be the story we were both sticking to.