Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 77016 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77016 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
“I see.”
“He says you’re miserable without me.”
Damn it, Ben! Brothers are supposed to have each other’s backs. Miserable?
I hate the truth of it.
“This is why relationships aren’t in the cards for me. I have a problem with misery of any kind.”
She laughs. “You think that makes you unique? No one likes to be miserable.”
“I like it less than most.”
“You do? Because you, the great Braden Black, know how misery affects everyone else on the planet?”
“Damn it!” I’m tense again, so tense my body is trembling slightly from the rigidness.
“This is getting nowhere,” she says. “I’m going back in.”
I offer her a half smile. “Your mother invited me to stay for dinner.”
I meet her gaze. It’s almost a glare.
“It’s a free country. Stay.”
“Do you want me to stay?”
She lets out a huff and chuckle. “Since when do you care what I want? Suit yourself.” She walks toward the door.
I’m staying.
I’m staying because I want to experience a meal at her parents’ house.
I’m staying because I’m here and because I can.
I follow her. She pulls open the screen door and then the main door.
Steve and Maggie are no longer in the living room. Skye walks through the foyer and into a small kitchen.
“Will your friend be staying for dinner?” Maggie asks.
“My friend? Mom, this isn’t some guy I brought home from school. This is a billionaire.”
“I know that, dear. Everyone knows who Braden Black is. What we didn’t know is that you and he were…”
“Together? We’re not.”
“But you were.”
“Only for a few weeks.”
I clear my throat. Does Skye realize I’m right behind her and hearing the conversation? “Is the invitation to dinner still open, Mrs. Manning?”
“Of course it is. And please, call me Maggie.”
I nod. She told me that, but now that Skye is here, I felt I should be a bit more formal.
“Why don’t you join Steve in the basement? He’ll be happy to pour you a drink.”
“I’d enjoy that. Does he have Wild Turkey?”
Mom laughs. “It’s only his favorite.”
I nod and walk toward the stairs to the basement. “Can I get either of you anything?”
“Sure,” Skye says. “I’ll have a Wild Turkey, too. Bring Mom a vodka and seltzer.”
I nod again and walk down the stairs.
“I see we have a lot to talk about,” I hear Maggie say to Skye as I descend.
Chapter Ten
In the basement, I’m surprised to find Steve sitting on a faded leather couch in what can only be described as the ultimate man cave.
A neon beer signs flickers, casting its low light to every corner of the spacious room. A bar sits against one wood-paneled wall and a tiny wine rack in one corner, while a flat-screened television plays Jeopardy!.
The floor is covered in a worn carpet that has seen many spills and late-night conversations. It’s mottled with splotches of different shades. To the right of the bar is a pool table that has seen better days, its felt rubbed bare in spots.
Beside it is a dartboard with numerous little holes outside the scoring area.
Steve looks up from the TV, a quirky smile playing on his lips.
“Escaping all the hormones?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.
I can’t help a slight smile. “Just came down to get a drink.”
He rises. “What can I get you?”
“I hear you have Wild Turkey.”
“Love the stuff. But you? I’d have pegged you for a Basil Haydn kind of guy. Or maybe even Pappy’s.”
His reference to Pappy Van Winkle surprises me. It’s a top-shelf bourbon that can run you sixty-five bucks a shot in Boston.
“I won’t lie,” I say. “Pappy’s is smooth as mother’s milk, but I grew up on Wild Turkey. It’s in my bones, and it’ll always be my favorite.”
“Mine too. Skye enjoys it as well.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“I suppose you would.” He pours us each a glass.
The aroma of dinner wafts down the stairs. I inhale the savory goodness. “Smells good.”
“Maggie’s pot roast,” Steve says. “Always a treat.”
“I love pot roast. I have vague memories of my mom making it before…”
“Before what?”
“Never mind.” I’m not about to confide in a man I just met about how the fire and my father’s drinking led us into poverty so deep that we didn’t eat beef for years.
I take a seat next to Steve on the couch and take a sip of my drink.
“Jeopardy!, huh?” I say.
“Never miss it,” he says. “I love trivia. Always have. The categories are tough tonight though. Opera? I don’t know shit about opera.”
“I don’t really, either,” I admit. I peruse the categories that are listed.
Opera masterpieces, world capitals, movie quotes, mythology, famous firsts, and rock and role, whatever that means.
“I’ll take ‘rock and role’ for four hundred,” the contestant says.
“This ‘Ziggy Stardust’ rock icon played the Goblin King in the 1986 cult classic fantasy film Labyrinth,” the host reads.
“Who is David Bowie?” I say.
“Impressive,” Steve says. “You couldn’t have been more than a toddler in eighty-six.”