Habits (Greyford High Book 2) by Anna B. Doe

Author:Anna B. Doe [Doe, Anna B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-03-26T16:00:00+00:00

Andrew

I regret the words as soon as they leave my mouth, but there is no taking them back now.

“What?” Jeanette’s mouth opens in surprise.

“Forget it.” I turn around, raising the barrier between us. I saw the fear on her face, and it wrecked me. She’s actually afraid.

Of me.

I’m used to it. People fear me because of my name, my popularity and my dickhead attitude. But never her. Since the moment she stepped her tiny little foot in Greyford, Jeanette Sanders has been my equal. Not once has she tolerated my attitude, and she always calls me on my shit, twisting my balls if and when I take it too far. And in some bizarre way, I like it. I like her determination and her confidence. I like her strength and sense of right and wrong.

But I guess one can only take so much, and this is her breaking point.

Swallowing hard, I take a few steps away from her and the party, but I’m soon stopped in my tracks. Her delicate, icy fingers wrap around my hand, tugging hard.

I look over my shoulder at her, lower lip wobbling with cold but a determined look in her gray eyes.

She lifts one finger in the air. “I’m not going to forget it,” soon followed by the second. “And you don’t get to leave me here on my own.”

Sighing, I turn around. “Let’s get you inside. You’re going to freeze to death.”

Why did I bring her outside in the cold when I know damn well she’s so sensitive to it? She’s always wearing those sweaters and big socks to keep warm. I didn’t think, that’s why. I let my rage overtake me, and not only did I help her freeze, but I also made her scared of me.

How big of a fuckup can one person be?

“No.” Jeanette folds her arms over her chest to keep herself warm probably as much as to keep them from shaking. “Tell me, right here, right now.”

“You’re going to get pneumonia.”

“I don’t fucking care. Now tell me.”

Throwing my head back, I exhale in exasperation. Jeanette Sanders and her stubbornness will be the death of me. And herself, because I’m sure if she doesn’t return inside soon, she’ll end up in the hospital.

“When I was eight, I came home one day to see my mom had packed her shit and left,” I say matter-of-factly. It’s been a long time since I resigned myself with her decision. “No explanations, no goodbyes, nothing. Just one lousy Post-it note attached to the divorce papers saying she’s feeling asphyxiated by her life and that she needs out, so she left. She didn’t mention where or leave a way to contact her. Nothing. It’s like she erased us out of her life.”

“Andrew …” she starts, but I stop her. I don’t need or want her pity. And if I stop now, I’m not sure I’ll be able to start again.

“She left, and for the next few years I didn’t hear from her. Not once did she call to ask about me.

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