Chapters (34)
- Title Page
- Table of Contents
- Playlist
- Dedication
- Prologue
- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- Chapter Five
- Chapter Six
- Chapter Seven
- Chapter Eight
- Chapter Nine
- Chapter Ten
- Chapter Eleven
- Chapter Twelve
- Chapter Thirteen
- Chapter Fourteen
- Chapter Fifteen
- Chapter Sixteen
- Chapter Seventeen
- Chapter Eighteen
- Chapter Nineteen
- Chapter Twenty
- Chapter Twenty-One
- Chapter Twenty-Two
- Chapter Twenty-Three
- Chapter Twenty-Four
- Chapter Twenty-Five
- Epilogue
- Acknowledgements
- Also by Q.B. Tyler
- About the Author
“Your brother is outside. He didn’t want to be too far away in case things went south.” Her lips form a straight line. Like they did.
I pull out of Jacob’s arms despite the grip he has on me and wrap my arms around her, crying into her neck and I feel her hands at my back. “I love you, Chlo.”
“I love you more, Whit. Just give them some time to let it sink in. It’s a bomb. You have to let the dust settle now.” She pulls away and gives me a small smile through her watery eyes. “Kevin and Michelle Monroe aren’t capable of grudges or hatred… let alone for two of their favorite people in the world. Let them sit with their anger for a minute, alright?”
I nod, knowing she’s right but unsure how I can live in a world where the two people that brought me into it potentially aren’t talking to me for even the shortest amount of time.
“Chloe, thank you for… everything.” Jacob says from behind me and she nods at him.
“Take care of her,” she says and then she’s gone.
I shoot a text to Mason as we head toward the door that we are about to leave when I hear the faint sounds of a door closing and then he’s moving down the stairs.
“How bad is it?” I ask as he meets us at the door. Mason, who was the only person who hadn’t shed any tears initially now has red eyes and I wonder if he cried while he was upstairs.
“Bad. Mom won’t stop crying and Dad is pacing the room talking about what charge he’d get for murdering you.” He rubs his eyes and clears the emotion from his throat. “I told him probably second degree because you know crimes of passion? But the longer he thinks on it, the more it’s looking like first-degree murder.”
“Mase…” I chastise him for his joke.
“Too soon? Well look, Dad hates me as much as he hates you right now,” he says, pointing at me. “Definitely not as much as he hates you,” he says, gesturing to Jacob. “But yeah, the whole me not telling him what was going on? Pissed. Apparently, he’s subscribing to the bros before hoes thing.”
“Okay, Dad is not your bro and I am not a ho,” I say, giving him my middle finger.