Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 103754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
The heavy soles of their shoes should be fading as I head in the opposite direction. With my guard up and my body on full alert, their footsteps are gaining ground instead, steady at first before they burst into a sprint. Their taunts to come back close the distance. My head jerks back on my neck as my body flies, stumbling forward. I catch my balance and turn around, standing my ground. Fucking assholes. But I know guys like these, same as in the old neighborhood where I grew up. They want victims. Not someone who will fight back. Is it naive to believe we can talk through this to come to an understanding? “I didn’t say anything. I’m not looking for trouble, friend. It’s Chris—”
“We’re not your friends.”
Raising my hands, I sway my head, keeping calm. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
Fighting used to come second nature. It’s been a long time since I had to defend myself, and I don’t stand a chance against the three of them and a metal pipe. But when one guy swings, I angle out of the way only to be struck by another fist landing squarely across my jaw. A metallic taste coats my mouth before my brain, and the pain catches up to what’s happening. I swing, taking the middle guy out, splattering his coat with blood. Skidding along the concrete, he sics his buddies to attack.
My body bounces when I’m thrown against the wall, but I duck when he punches, hitting the tile behind me. The crack of his bones doesn’t sound good. I kick him toward the track, then throw an uppercut to a guy charging me. I never saw the other one coming . . . my ribs ache as I tumble sideways to the ground, my shoulder breaking the fall before my head hits it.
The pain radiates, making it hard to know where I’m injured. Kicks rain down on me from the first one, then two others take their turn. Shielding myself, I burrow into my arms to protect my head. “Let’s go,” someone shouts before they take off running. I peek my eyes open to catch them jumping the turnstiles to escape.
“Aghh,” I groan, rolling onto my back, unable to take a deep breath without fire consuming my body. Not a bone, muscle, or limb remains untouched from pain. I close my eyes, hoping to isolate where it hurts most because it’s a struggle to move parts of my body.
I grew up miles from where I now lie bleeding, stupidly believing that by changing locations I could change my outcome. With my dad’s voice echoing “little shit” around me, did I actually believe I could outrun my upbringing?
I fooled myself into believing I was more because Professor Johns said I could be whoever I wanted to be. I convinced myself I was worthy of someone spectacular and full of light like Sosie. And she fell for me, doubling down on that notion. But I fell for her the first time I heard her voice . . .
“Are you hiding from the party?”
“I’m on a break.”
“Me, too.” I felt empty when her gaze left me and whole when it was bonded with mine. She slowly sways, tapping the toe of her boot to the ground. “So who are you?”
“Keats.”
“Like the poet.” God, that smile was everything to a guy like me. “Heard melodies are sweet—”
“Poet,” she whispers in my ear. “Stay with me.” I reach to embrace her, to hug her to my chest so I can feel my heart beat again. But there is no her, or heart, or beats. Only the sound of the horn forewarns of the oncoming train.
“Hey!” an unfamiliar voice asks just as I close my eyes. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m—”
CHAPTER 25
SOSIE
“I’m sorry, Joy.” I glance up at people crowding the door, waiting to be seated, as guilt washes through me for taking up valuable table space. “Do you mind bringing the bill?”
“It’s on me, Sosie.” She never changes or ages. I should be jealous, but she’s too good a person not to be inspired by instead. “It’s been too long and good to see you again.”
“You, too, and thank you.” My gaze drifts out the window for the thousandth time, hoping to see Keats running toward the restaurant. I can see his smiling face and a wave before coming in to kiss me like we’ve missed each other for years, not just a few hours. But my lips are bereft of his, my arms still empty, and my imagination fills in the rest.
When Joy disappears into the kitchen, I set money on the table that will more than cover the hot tea and edamame I ordered. Getting up, I pull my coat back on as I walk toward the door. I squeeze through the crowd, and the cold air hits my cheeks when I exit.