Fearless by Abby Brooks (best books for 8th graders .txt) 📗

at the bar felt significant. Maybe it was the fact he’d never gone a day without talking to me since I’d arrived. Maybe it was my unanswered text. Maybe it was because he’d made such a big deal about knowing everything about me, but had kept the story of his mother’s attempted suicide to himself. Whatever it was, something felt wrong.

With those thoughts for company, I petered around the house, taking my time as I got ready for bed, hoping beyond hope Alex would reach out. An hour passed before I finally texted him.

Missed you tonight. Hope you got all the words.

Half an hour plodded by before I got a reply.

Words are happening. Sleep well.

Nothing was wrong with his text, yet everything was wrong about it. This wasn’t the way Alex and I talked. He always had a joke for me. Or a kind word. Or at least an “I missed you, too.”

Unless he was really lost in the story…

I growled and punched a pillow. It felt so good I punched it again. And again. Then fell to the bed, laughing at myself as Larry pranced over to investigate. “I’m driving myself crazy,” I said to the ceiling, then curled up in bed and waited for sleep.

The next morning, I bounded downstairs, excited to finally see Alex face to face. Everything was easier in the light of day, with him in front of me. When I could see his facial expressions and hear his tone of voice. I was sure my fears would dissipate the second he showed up to drop off his new pages. We’d have our morning conversation over coffee, and all would be right with the world.

When his knock sounded, I all but ran to greet him, thankful once again for the non-slip grippers on my socks. I flung open the door to a brilliant, snow-covered morning, and blinked in the brightness. Alex held a bouquet of flowers in one hand, and I grabbed the strap to his messenger bag and pulled him inside. “Good morning, handsome.”

It might have been my imagination, but I had to pull harder than I would have thought, for a man about to get some serious lip action.

He smiled as I closed the door and gave the flowers a wiggle. “I can’t stay. I just wanted to drop off last night’s pages before I swing by and give these to Mom.”

Oh.

The flowers weren’t for me.

I stepped back, embarrassed. “Do you have time for coffee?”

“I really don’t. Gonna go see her, then get back to work. If I’m diligent, I’ll have this thing done tomorrow. Just in time.” Alex’s eyes were everywhere but on mine. My intuition screamed something was wrong, while my rational mind continued to preach he was extremely busy and everything would be okay in a few days.

“Okay then,” I said as he fished in his bag for the manuscript. “I’ll shoot you a text when I’ve been through these?”

“Sounds like a plan.” As he handed them over, his fingers snaked into my hair. His lips pressed to mine and all was right in the world.

There was no faking the heat I felt in his kiss.

No pretending there wasn’t emotion coursing between us.

No worrying that what I felt wasn’t real, or that he didn’t feel it, too.

His kiss said everything I needed to hear, and for half a second relief flooded my senses.

But then Alex pulled away and his eyes were distant and his goodbye was strange and as the door closed between us, I worried that nothing would be the same again.

Alex

The last twenty-four hours had been a steady stream of the hardest things I’d ever done. Last night, choosing not to meet Evie had been the hardest thing I’d ever done.

Until choosing not to text her the second she got home took that title.

Then, her bedroom light went on, and she yanked open her curtains. I’d stood in my darkened room and peered through the slats in my blinds, watching her look so sad. So fucking sad, and all because of me. I thought I’d hit the ceiling on awful.

But going to bed without talking to her was hard.

Working on the manuscript was hard.

Showing up at her house with flowers for my mom—but not for Evie—was hard. I knew it was a dick move and that was why I did it. It was a slap to her face, and it hit the mark exactly as I intended.

I hated to see her hurting, but this was for the best. If my life was going to be a whirlwind of work, work, work…of abandoning her to loneliness even though she was with me, I needed to let her go. It would be better for her in the long run.

The pain I caused her would be temporary.

She would heal.

She’d move on.

She’d blossom.

Knowing I was saving Evie from becoming my mother meant I could deal with hurting her a little now instead of a lot later, but knowing the final blow would knock the breath from her lungs? I hadn’t come to terms with that, yet.

I knew Evie well enough to see exactly what I needed to do to make her hate me.

As much as I loved her, I needed her to hate me.

Making her leave me was for the best.

It had to be.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Evie

If last night sucked, and this morning sucked some more, I should have known there was no hope for the rest of the day. After Alex left, I dutifully sat down at my kitchen table and got to work on his manuscript. It was good. Better than good. Hours passed as I read, enthralled by the twists and turns of the climax. This definitely was his best work yet, and I was so happy for him, right up until I got to scene forty-eight.

Scene forty-eight did us in.

It was the nail in the coffin. The flick of a lighter to my fuse. It was the straw, and I was the camel, and my