Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 99736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
“Because something about his case didn’t sit right with me.”
“How so?” He’s still giving me nothing, so I try to explain.
“The defence painted Anders as the aggressor and poor Kyle as a drug addict. I think Kyle was full of shit.”
Finally, Law breaks into a smile.
“He thinks Kyle faked being high to get a lighter sentence,” Rachel says.
Something weird crosses Law’s face. I have to be wrong but it looks like … appreciation?
Appears Anders isn’t the only person I can’t get a read on.
I’ve almost convinced myself that I can’t be seeing awe on Law’s face when he takes me off guard and approaches me.
I recoil, not sure what to expect, but then his arms are round me, taking me into a hug.
What the fuck?
“That’s what we always thought,” he whispers. “Anders’ lawyers never believed us, and the prosecutor kept telling Anders the evidence suggests otherwise, so they couldn’t prove it.” He pulls back. “I was right when I said you’re good for him. He needs someone in his corner like you. Give him some space. Try again in maybe a week or two.”
“A week?” I exclaim. “Do you not understand that I like shit to be in order? I need to know where we stand.”
Law gives me a sympathetic stare. “If you push him before he’s ready, you’ll definitely lose him.”
“What about Meatball?” I ask. “Does he want his cat? She misses him. The first two days, she waited by the door, and today she’s gone back to her cranky old demon cat ways—hissing at me anytime I go near her.”
Rachel rolls her eyes. “She’s probably bouncing off your shitty attitude.”
I look at Law. “You can take her with you now if he wants her.”
“He hasn’t mentioned the cat, but he’s Anders. He won’t ask for her.”
As much as I’d love to make Anders come and get her himself so I get to see him, Meatball being by his side is more important. They seem to calm each other.
I go pull the cat carrier Rachel bought when she rescued her out of the hallway closet, while Rachel goes to get the cat food for me.
Getting Meatball into the damn thing is a mission, but between Rachel and me, we manage.
Law looks on with a concerned scrunch in his brow. “She’s not, like, going to scratch me to death in my sleep or anything, is she?”
Rachel and I glance at each other with knowing smirks. I try to keep a straight face as I say, “Not at all.”
Law takes the carrier off me. “Give me a week to work on Anders.”
I watch him leave, feeling completely helpless. A week. I can do a week. I don’t want to, but I can.
25
Anderson
I hate my body.
I hate my mind.
I hate my life.
It’s the anxiety. Don’t let it win.
KISS plays through my iPhone, filtering through the still-unfamiliar bedroom even if I’ve seen practically nothing but the inside of these walls in the last three days. It’s become my very own self-inflicted prison, but I feel safe here. Even with the unfamiliarity.
If you’ve never broken down in front of your brother’s boyfriend, you haven’t lived.
“Can I get you anything?” Reed asks from the doorway. Every day he asks me what I need and how he can help. It’s impossible to yell at the guy because he’s doing it as a favour to Law. “Water?”
I don’t even bother rolling over in the spare bed in his and Law’s house to face him as I shake my head.
“Call out if you need something. I’m out here grading assignments.”
I say, “Okay,” but can still sense him hanging in the doorway.
“Need me to make an appointment?” Reed asks.
I shake my head again.
“I’m sorry you’re going through this,” he whispers, and then his footsteps fade away.
Then I remember Ed Shearon. I sit up. “Reed?”
He turns back. “Yeah?”
“Can you cancel an appointment for me? I have one set for tomorrow with my other therapist.”
“Sure. Just give me the details.”
“Thank you.”
He takes out his phone, and I look up the number on mine. Law comes home halfway through giving Reed the digits. The noise of him dumping my stuff out in the living room is followed by him appearing in my doorway.
“What’s happening?” he asks.
“Reed’s cancelling the sex therapist for me.”
Reed almost drops his phone, and he scrambles to catch it before it hits the floor. When he’s upright again, he stares at me wide-eyed. “I’m cancelling who?”
I smirk. “Okay, that was fun and cheered me up a little.” I turn to Law. “Though I’m surprised you didn’t already tell him.”
“Interestingly enough, your sex life doesn’t come up a whole lot when I talk to my partner. Weird, I know.”
Yes. This is what I need—a sense of normalcy. Snarky, crazy normalcy.
“But you shouldn’t cancel the appointment,” Law says.
“Why not? I’m single and don’t need lessons on jerking off. Have that down to an art.”