Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
How is he the one to see it? How is he the only person in my whole fucking life to say those things to me?
I try to play it off like my hands aren’t shaking right now.
Me: No idea what you’re talking about.
Hunter: I don’t think that’s true at all.
Me: I thought I was an asshole.
Hunter: We can all be more than one thing. You excel at both.
An unexpected laugh jumps from my mouth.
Me: Is that a compliment, Hunter King?
It takes me a second to realize how flirty that was. I’ve always been a flirt. It comes naturally to me, but not with him. At least, I shouldn’t be with him. Knowing that doesn’t stop me, though, even if it’s just something else to hate myself for later.
Hunter: Tell me about your first photos.
Evidently, he’s ignoring my flirting, and I’m trying to think of how to respond, when my phone rings. What the fuck? He’s calling me. I sit higher up in bed like that’ll give me any clarity into why in the hell Hunter is calling me.
Don’t answer, don’t answer, and stop doing this.
I answer the call.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Hunter
I’m not sure why I texted Lucas. I’m even less sure why I’m calling him, but I don’t hang up. I just…want someone to talk to, and that person seems to be him.
It’s been so long since I really talked to anyone that I’m not sure I even know how to do it anymore, not about anything real. But then, that night on the roof, Lucas and I did well with ignoring most of the heavy shit, so maybe we can do that tonight too.
“Well, this is unexpected,” he says, voice slightly raspy.
It’s after midnight, something I thought about before I texted but slipped my mind when I called. “Were you asleep?”
“Is sleep-texting a thing?”
I roll my eyes. “I meant before I texted. I’m pretty sure you know that.”
“Me? Never.” I hear the smile in his voice. “And no.”
“You sound tired. I shouldn’t have called. It’s pretty fucking weird that I did, actually.” Jesus. What was I thinking?
“I don’t think weird is a bad thing,” he says, surprising me.
“You don’t think this is a bad thing?”
“No. We’re allowed to talk. We probably understand each other more than most people.”
I frown, not sure how losing a brother and what Ellis was to me translates to us understanding each other. “What do you mean?”
“We both know what it’s like to live in Ellis’s shadow.”
His words steal my breath. That’s not how it was supposed to feel being with Ellis. I’ve never told anyone, not even myself, really, that somehow that’s how it felt being with him. Guilt eats me alive, biting into my skin, gnawing on my bones. But that’s exactly how it felt because he was so good, so perfect, the best son, student, friend, boyfriend, football supporter a person could be, but it was so damn hard living up to his expectations. I always felt like if I fucked up, if I wasn’t good enough, I was letting him down.
“Did I say too much?” Lucas asks.
“You didn’t say anything that isn’t true.” The words feel like a betrayal, like I should have swallowed them down and buried them wherever they had been before Lucas dug them up.
Lucas gets it. Maybe even gets me.
“Tell me about your first photos,” I ask him again. That’s the reason I called—we lost tonight, and I played like shit. If I can’t get it together, the Pulse won’t keep me, and why would they? I’m not the same player they signed years ago. Still, knowing that doesn’t make me want to talk about it. Football is all I can think about most of the time, but last week, talking with Lucas was a distraction, something I desperately need again.
“Mom got me a camera when I was six. Not the greatest quality, but I took photos of everything and anything and thought they were gold, which of course they weren’t.”
I chuckle, thinking about a young Lucas finding his joy that way. It’s how I always felt about football.
“The first time I really fell in love with one of my photos, I was ten. We were outside. It was a warm spring day. It was me, Ellis, and Mom. I had an upset stomach that morning, and Ellis brought me chicken soup for breakfast. He was good with stuff like that, ya know? We fought like crazy, but when it counted, he was there.”
A few more pieces of my heart break off, making me wonder if eventually the whole thing will be a pile of rubble in my chest. “Yeah…he was.”
“Anyway, I started feeling better, so we went outside. Ellis was being nice to me because I’d been sick. Dad wasn’t home, and things were always better between us when Dad wasn’t home.”