Breathe (Hollow Ridge #2) - C.L. Matthews Page 0,7

journey. It’s time to move on, and you should follow suit. You’re only twenty-three, Rob. You’re too young for this to be your only option.”

“You’re right. Thank you.” Her words aren’t sharp or pointed, just acceptance. And with that, I turn and leave Lucien’s chop-block for a new road. Too bad my rent is due and my boyfriend doesn’t like when I’m late with my half. Not that he ever seems to be on time, but of course Joey can’t fuck up—it’s unbecoming.

We don’t share any more sadness or stories after it’s said and done. I plug in my number on her cell, telling her to text if she ever needs me.

Chapter Three

Three Days Earlier

Joey

As I make my way back to my shared apartment, I smile. I’m free. There are no strings attached any longer, and I can search for a new job. My dream job. It may be another breakneck kind of hell I’ve been doing for the past year, barely scraping by, but it’ll be for a much better company, I’m sure of it.

Wesley and I live in the lesser half of Savannah Pines. Even though it’s a Podunk town, it’s all we could afford outside of Hollow Ridge. At first, when I met Wes, it was a nightmare. He was that guy, and I avoided him at all costs. But everything changed when Dad married Marsha. I’m sure that’s what drove me to him. He’s everything my dad hates. Bad boy with long surfer hair. Pothead. Careless. He dropped out of school, got a job at the fresh age of sixteen, and worked his way up at this tiny surf shack at Savannah Cove.

While it paid next to nothing, he was happy, blissful, and trying. Something I think every human could hope for—joy and contentedness, even while unrealistic.

When Dad put a ring on that psycho bitch’s finger, I rebelled. Can you blame me? She stepped in, being this perfect trophy wife, doting on him at his time in need. In reality, Marsha made Meredith Blake look charming.

I hated her and, in turn, hated my dad too. A spoiled brat? Perhaps. A daughter abandoned for fame? Sure. A broken shell of a girl, forced to grow up? Definitely. Call it daddy issues or whatever you think is befitting, but after Dad threw me wherever he could, moving me from place to place, and marrying that gold-digger, Wes became everything I needed to get back at him for moving on.

Mom had only been missing for four years. We don’t even know if she’s alive, safe, or scared.

Yet he moved on.

How could he?

Either way, Wes became more than just a ploy. We bonded through our fucked-up upbringings. I mean, he had it bad. He’s poor, never staying in one place for too long, and always struggling to live. At least I’m loaded. Or was. We both went through a lot before turning eighteen, and it built this safe place for me to go to. Even while he doesn’t know my entire story.

Climbing up the steps to our place, I notice a tattered package leaning against the door. Sweet. Maybe it’s my custom apron that I’ve been waiting for since graduating. It has J. Moore embroidered on the left breast pocket. It was my one splurge after Dad stopped sending me checks. I really couldn’t blame him since I’m his mess of a daughter. The one that refused to study law or become a politician like he wanted for me. The one who defied, partied, used his money for trips across the world, and did whatever I wanted because I could.

Josephine Moore, the mayor’s damnation.

Tabloids loved to hate me, and I hated to hate me.

My fingers wrestle the key into the lock, and I unlatch it to head inside. Pushing the battered door, it makes a loud yawning noise. When the package nearly slips from my grip, I tuck it underneath my arm.

It’s an absolute mess in here. The couch is covered in used blankets, Wesley’s clothes are strewn about, and the goddamn dirty dishes everywhere makes me nauseous. He’s a slob, so much so, that I feel like a maid rather than a girlfriend.

Shutting the door, I’m immediately met with the sound of moaning. It fills my ears obnoxiously, in a loud shrill way that could only mean one of two things.

Porn or—

“Oh, Wes! Harder, Wes!”

—my boyfriend cheating.

My ears bleed. Not physically, but the pain is just as brutal. The eardrum bursts open as I hear the sounds of her

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