Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 108531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
“Well, I suppose I didn’t think you did,” Paul replied. “What did you want to do?”
He wanted to write, and he did write.
He wanted someone to read what he wrote and enjoy it.
He wanted to walk into a bookstore and see the world he’d always had inside his head being shared with others.
He wanted to make a lot of money off books so he didn’t have to spend every second of every day working, and he could travel and see the world and fictionally murder people in international settings.
“It doesn’t matter.” Telling Paul would only give him a weapon to use when he needed it.
Paul fell silent and the miles rolled, the night flowing around them.
“I’m not the same asshole I was in high school.” Paul leaned his head against the passenger-side window.
“You just had sex with a married woman, you’re on the run from a loan shark, and you lied about why you came home.” He was exactly the same.
Paul sighed. “I didn’t know . . . I’m not going to win with you, am I?”
“There’s nothing to win because we’re not playing a game,” Quaid replied, turning down the long drive that took them home.
“No, we’re not. I spent a long time thinking we were, that we were competing.” Paul sat up as they approached the circular drive in front of their house. “Every class I ever took I had to deal with comparisons to my brother. I wasn’t as smart or as athletic as Quaid. So I tried to be more artistic, more charming. But we don’t have to do that anymore. We can just be ourselves.”
His brother seemed to be working out something, and Quaid wasn’t sure he liked the sound of it. Paul’s voice seemed to gather excitement as he continued.
“We don’t have all those expectations. We can enjoy being brothers.”
“I’m not enjoying myself.”
“Because I never gave you step eight.” Paul sat back, a hand on his head like he’d made a true revelation. “I never made amends to you.”
Oh, that was twelve-step stuff Quaid did not need. “I’m fine. We’re good.”
He brought the car to a stop in front of the big Creole mansion they’d grown up in.
“We’re not,” Paul replied. “Not even close, and if I don’t do something about it, we’ll never have the kind of relationship we could have.”
What the hell was happening? “Don’t worry about that. Like I said, if you tell me who you owe money to, I’ll handle this and when you sell your house you can pay me back and we’ll be even. Now get inside. I have to go back into town. I have work in the morning.”
Paul opened the door and stepped out, but then turned to look back at Quaid. “I have to think about this.”
“No, you have to give me the name of the guy who is going to find you and break your legs if he doesn’t get his money,” Quaid returned. “That’s all you have to do.”
Paul slapped the top of the car. “No, I have a lot of work to do, and I’m going to fix this problem. I promise. I’ll talk to you tomorrow and we’ll figure out how to fix this.”
“I told you how to fix it.”
Paul stepped away. “Nah. You told me how to fix a temporary and, in the end, meaningless problem. I meant how to fix our family. You’re right. This has gone on far too long, and it’s my problem to fix.”
“I did not say that. At all. Not even once. Just give me the name and we all go back to our lives.” The idea of Paul trying to fix something was unsettling. Unbelievable, too.
“I think I need to reevaluate my life, brother. Starting here and now. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He began to walk away.
Quaid lowered the window, his panic rising the tiniest bit. “You don’t have to see me. You can text me that name.”
“Good night, brother,” Paul called out, not looking back.
Quaid took off for town again. When he got home, the lights were out and Jayna’s door was closed.
It had not been his night.
chapter six
Jayna yawned and rolled over, reaching a hand out to pet Luna. “I’m getting up. I promise.”
Then she fully opened her eyes and sat up because her dog was absolutely not lying on the bed next to her.
“Luna?” She glanced around the small bedroom and did not catch even a glimpse of her dog. The clock on the bedside table read 8:35 a.m. Luna never lasted that long without whining and licking her face to get Jayna to let her out and feed her some breakfast. Luna was better than any alarm clock.
Where the hell was her dog?
She’d been up way too late reading that book of Quaid’s, but that wouldn’t have mattered to Luna. Her dog’s bladder didn’t care that she’d needed to know if Armand Landry, Cajun private investigator, had been able to figure out who had killed his high school girlfriend at their twenty-year reunion.