Read Between the Pages: A Novel for Free Online

was a little crazy. I hope Finley isn’t crazy.
    My phone rings. I reach for it and look at the screen.
    Fuck. I hit decline and wait for the next call. It comes twenty seconds later.
    Decline.
    Ring.
    Decline.
    And on and on. I finally power my phone off and forcibly push away from my desk. The house phone rings.
    How the fuck did she get this number? The paging tenor infiltrates my eardrums and makes me clench my jaw. I let it die, but soon the ringing starts again.
    Jesus fucking Christ.
    I sprint to the master landline in the kitchen and yank the jack out of the base. I’m breathing heavily as I slide down against the cabinet. I put my face in my hands.
    I guess it’s true when they say you can’t outrun your past. No matter how many times I change my number, she still finds me. I think a part of me likes it—perhaps because it’s possible that she cares .
    I doubt it.
    I’m done. I’ve been done for a long time.
     

CHAPTER FIVE
    Finley
     
     
    I’ve said my goodbyes to Hannah a thousand times when I get the call from Brady. His voice startles me—he sounds so young. I hug Hannah one last time. “Okay, he’s here. I’ll be back Friday night.”
    “I’ve cleared my schedule for you.” She smiles and smacks my butt, pushing me out the door. I drag my small suitcase behind me, clunking against each step of the forty-five stairs down to the street. I take a deep breath. This is actually happening. And it’s real—the twenty-five thousand was securely in my bank account as of seven p.m. last night.
    A silver Subaru SUV is waiting at the curb. I wave, and a small, nerdy guy hops out and runs up to me.
    “Finley? I’m Brady.” He shakes my hand and takes my suitcase.
    “Nice to meet you, Brady.” I study him as he loads my luggage into the trunk. He’s wearing an NYU shirt, and his curly hair is matted to one side. He’s sporting thick glasses, and he’s at least two inches shorter than me—and that’s saying a lot since I’m only five-foot-four on a good day. “Hey, you went to NYU too?”
    “I go to NYU. I’ll be a junior in the fall. I’m just helping Emerson out with the house and various chores for the summer.”
    “Oh,” I say, disappointment lodging in my throat. Why did I think we’d be the only two in the house? And more importantly, why do I care that we won’t be? “That’s nice of him to hire you.”
    “We go way back. My older brother, Isaac, is his best friend. I’m fifteen years younger than Isaac, so Emerson’s been around pretty much my whole life. We grew up on the same street on Long Island. Are you from the area?” His nasally voice is endearing, and as I hop into the passenger seat, I make a mental note that Emerson is from Long Island.
    “Yeah. I grew up north of here.” I don’t specify, but Brady continues to probe.
    “Oh, uptown?”
    I nod. “Mmm-hmm.” That seals it—Long Islanders know the kind of people who live uptown. I know those people. I ran away from those people as soon as I could. “But don’t worry. I’ve long since grown to love downtown more.”
    “Cool,” is all he says. He pulls away from the curb, and I buckle myself in. I don’t say anything as we inch along the western border of Manhattan, uptown and toward Harlem. When we finally get to the I-95 ramp, I lean back and smile.
    “So, what’s it like to work for Emerson Whittaker?”
    Brady just shrugs. “He’s a good guy. But I’m biased because he’s practically family.”
    “Are your families close then?” I imagine Emerson and Isaac biking around the idyllic suburbia as kids, eating too much cotton candy at the local theatre, and promising to always stay friends. Just the fact Brady works for Emerson must mean he values where he came from.
    “Um, not really. From what Isaac told me, Emerson’s parents weren’t really around.”
    The rigid tone of voice doesn’t register in my mind, so I probe further. “Oh, but I thought you said you grew up on the same street?”