All the Different Ways by R.J. Lee

Author:R.J. Lee [Lee, R.J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-12-20T18:30:00+00:00

FOURTEEN

Violet

The first week back to school blows. I swear to God, waking up prior to nine in the morning should be outlawed. On top of that, the only thing I’ve gotten to do with Cullen the last three days is text and say hi in the hallway. Oh, and wink. I got a wink. Not even our plan periods line up anymore. Last year, we both had third block off, but this year, Cullen has a last block plan to my third. Admin said it had something to do with football practices and getting out on the field sooner. Whatever I was thinking before about a little separation being good for us was total bullshit. I miss him.

Tonight’s football game is a big one. Rivals and all that. But it’s away so I’m not going, and the team left on a bus right after school.

I throw my stuff down inside the entryway of my townhouse, promising to pick it up after I change my clothes, but I get a text from Cullen that delays it all.

Cullen: Miss U

Me: I bet. On bus w/stinky boys

Cullen: Got that right. See U at game?

Me: Not this one. Long day, bad mood.

Cullen: I’m sorry, Beautiful. Let me fix it?

Me: LOL, not from the bus

Cullen: I can come by after game?

Me: That would be perfect

Cullen: I’ll text U, 2 Color

Me: Sounds good, Thor, C U. Good luck!

Feeling slightly better that I have something to look forward to now, I pick up my bag from out by the front door and skip up the stairs. In reality, I never could have let it sit. I change into some yoga pants and a tank top, brush the knots out of my long hair, and trot back downstairs to relax with Jax until I hear from Cullen again.

At some point, I must have fallen asleep because I jolt awake and check the time. It’s nearly light outside and my phone says five thirty. Did I miss his text? The indicator light isn’t blinking so I type in my code to retrieve messages. Nothing is there. No missed calls, either. A slow panic starts to build in my belly; little butterflies randomly take flight. This isn’t like Cullen at all.

I send him a message.

Me: R U ok?

Then I wait. I stretch and pace around the living room, waiting. I look at the pictures on my wall, waiting. I clean the two counters in my tiny kitchen even though they are already spotless, waiting. I sit on a cold, hard stool with a huff and lay my head on the counter. The scent of citrus Lysol wafts into my sinuses. What if he’s laid out somewhere in an accident and I don’t have any idea? Flashbacks to not knowing that Anden was sprawled on the front lawn with twelve rusty metal tines piercing his organs, blood pooling in between his tissues as air hissed out of his lungs at each attempt to call my name flick across my vision like an old film reel.

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