Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
He’d grow selfish.
Of course Connelly’s kind eyes and warm smile clouded his mind right then, bringing with them all the feelings that had plagued Z since the moment they’d collided. It had been a mistake to start anything with the guy. This was Z’s life, Z’s reality. He lived in a world where people used other people to get things done. Where no one cared about anyone but themselves. And he was just the same. He knew Paco deserved better. He knew what was going to happen to him. Instead of helping, he was about to become just another dick in the kid’s mouth.
And he’d thought the universe couldn’t take anything else away from him?
Ha! That was hilarious. He should know by now that there was always more to lose.
Now it was his pride and those precious, secret dreams that had started to bloom. Neither would survive after he surrendered to desperation. After he became just as corrupted as the world he lived in.
There was no way he’d be able to face Connelly’s honesty and earnestness afterward. But he had no other choice, might as well accept that’s how things worked and do his best to exist in the poison with all the rest of the outcasts.
“Move over, kid, I’ll need to sit down.”
Chapter Sixteen
Pounding.
Z groaned and grabbed his temple to make the insane noise stop, but it didn’t work. The thud-thud-thud continued and above it was an accompanying high-pitched ring. He blinked one eye open and stared up at the water stain on his living room ceiling.
Fuck.
As his brain slowly switched on, reality came into focus and with it—pain.
His neck was wedged between the leg of a chair and the coffee table. When he tried to move, a twinge shot up to his knee. He hissed and closed his eye again. Double fuck. Why did his entire body hurt like he’d been run over by a truck? Why was he passed out on the floor? Why the hell did his foot feel like it was stuck in cement?
Risking the shards of light that pierced his skull, turning his headache into a full-blown migraine, he opened both eyes and blinked at the bandaged brace around his ankle. His heart sank.
So it hadn’t been a nightmare then.
He was a fucking cripple.
Another groan as he let his head fall back. It clonked on the carpet, causing his torment to reverberate throughout his body in an endless echo.
“Mr. Hayes!” More pounding came from the door along with his landlady’s voice. “I know you’re in there. Your phone has been ringing for an hour!”
Hissing in pain, Z maneuvered until he could untangle his limbs from the crutches he’d been hugging and the furniture that had trapped him. With great effort, he sat up, leaned against the sofa and scanned the mess to find his cell.
The ringing suddenly stopped.
“You can’t avoid it forever, Mr. Hayes. Hiding in there isn’t going to make your debt disappear. You only have one more day.”
Before she could say another word, his cell began its screeching again. Z scrambled to find it under his bag.
“What?” He didn’t bother looking at the caller ID. He didn’t really give a fuck who was calling. He was miserable and whichever poor sucker was on the other end was now Z’s target.
“Where the fuck have you been?” Ansel. Of course it was Ansel. The one person who was immune to Z’s bitchatude.
“What do you care?”
“Fitch said you wouldn’t let him drive you home last night and you didn’t answer your phone this morning. I wanted to make sure you were okay. How’s your ankle? What did the doctor say?”
“Take a guess.” A bad attitude was his only defense when he was feeling so shitty. What he wouldn’t give to disappear. Unfortunately, Ansel wasn’t easily put off.
“Shit,” Ansel said.
“Did you stay for the aftershow last night?”
“No.”
“Castor didn’t say anything?”
“Fuck him.” Though the words were biting there was worry lacing them. “You’re hurt. He can fuck himself and our deal if he thinks that counts as skipping a performance. And stop trying to change the subject. Is it broken?”
Z sighed and rested his head against the armrest. “No, might as well be though. I can’t even fucking put weight on it without wanting to die.” Resentment was bitter in his throat.
“Damn, Z, that sucks.”
He was too tired to scoff like he wanted to. Ansel didn’t know the half of it, no one did. No one knew how broke he was, how much he was struggling—because he hadn’t told them. And he still wasn’t going to. It was his problem, he’d deal with it. He kept his mouth shut and watched a spider spinning its web in the corner of the window.
“Tam feels like crap, you know? He thinks it’s his fault.”
Part of him blamed Tam too. If it hadn’t been for that crazy choreo he’d still be walking, he’d still be dancing, working, earning money for fuck’s sake. But he knew that wasn’t fair. It was just his worthless luck. Or maybe the fact that he’d only gotten a few hours’ sleep the night before. Or the universe reminding him not to get his hopes up.