Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 82415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
“Hey, buddy,” he answers as I plop down on my bed. “How’s your week going?”
“Eh…tough.”
“You’ve had a few tough weeks recently.”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
Just like he doesn’t realize I’m lucky to even be alive after that night in the woods with that creature.
“What’s that mean?” he presses.
It’s a fair question, but one I can’t answer. “Only that I don’t know that they’re gonna get any easier anytime soon.”
Stop being so bleak, or he’s gonna pry. But it’s a struggle, especially talking to him, because a part of me just wants to blurt it all out, tell him what I’ve been involved with, why I’ve been involved. But if I said anything, I doubt he’d feel much differently than Matteo.
As we catch up about our week, I tell myself I’m not gonna bring Nick up. That there’s no reason to. But I can’t help myself. Now that I have my hands on something that might help me learn the truth, it’s all that’s on my mind. “Been thinking a lot about Nick recently.”
He quiets.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“No, Alexei, I don’t want you to feel like you can’t bring Nick up. Ever. He brought so much joy into our lives, and it’s nice to remember those times.”
“Brought.” I didn’t even mean to call him out on using the past tense; it just came out.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“Yes, you did,” I mutter as the tears well in my eyes.
“I’m sorry, Alexei.”
But I know he’s not sorry for how he worded it, just for how it’s affecting me.
A cruel pain sits in my gut, a knife steadily twisting. All those signs we posted. All the posts we updated online with different photos. Hoping…wishing for answers.
“No, I understand,” I say. “I know I’ve been an ass about that in the past. Some days I think it’d be easier to tell myself he’s gone, but I can’t, Dad. He wouldn’t ever give up on me. Not unless he knew for sure there wasn’t a chance of finding me.”
“That’s true,” Dad says.
A tear slides down my cheek, and I sniffle. Fuck, I hate myself for making the sound because I know Dad heard me.
“Alexei—”
“So what does Mom want for her birthday?” I push out to change the subject.
Dad must know it’s a bullshit thing because her birthday isn’t until March.
“Have you seen that therapist again?” he asks, unwilling to go along with my redirect.
Fuck, no. Every time I chat with her, it feels like she’s manipulating me to accept the unacceptable. That he’s gone. Forever.
“Nah,” I force out. “But maybe I’ll shoot her an email and set up an appointment.”
Another lie. I’ve told so many fucking lies recently that I’m starting to think maybe a liar is all I am. I try to stifle my pain.
Dad says, “Well, your mom really wants a hot tub, so you might have that to look forward to when you get home.”
“Oh, really?”
“An inflatable one. We didn’t suddenly win the lottery. I’m sure a lot of your new friends have real ones.”
“Whatever. She’ll love that.” A smile tugs at my lips because it reminds me of how Dad was when I was growing up. How we always made do with what we had. But sadly, even that brings up more memories with Nick. During the holidays, opening one of our many Christmas presents—most likely purchased at garage sales and thrift stores, but we didn’t care or know any better. We were just excited to share them with each other. Funny how even an attempt to change the subject still leads me back to him. Feels like everything does. “Maybe there’s a hot-tub accessory I can grab for her,” I say, still fighting back the tears. Fuck, I’m about to lose it. “You know what, Dad, I have a bit of work to do. Kind of got behind by hanging with some friends over the weekend. You mind if I call you later?”
“Of course. I’m glad to hear you’re spending time with friends. Give me a call when you can. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
It’s the sort of thing we make sure to say because we never know when we might not see each other again.
After I hang up, I’m all teary-eyed, knotted up with tension. I grab my bag and head to the library.
I wasn’t lying to him when I said I needed to catch up on schoolwork. Between spying on the Sinners and my own mission with Matteo, I’m behind. But instead of working, I sit at a desk along the wall on the third floor for about an hour with my Brit Lit textbook open, my laptop screen with the images from the Saints’ notebook pulled up. My chat with Dad reminded me how important this is.
In my periphery, I notice someone moving toward me, and I quickly close my laptop.