Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 86158 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86158 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
“I’m also not used to sleeping alone,” I confessed.
He coughed.
“Okay, yes, I sleep alone most of the time,” I continued. “But I’m used to there being someone just down the hall. Having Kara and Draco downstairs and me the only one up here is weird.”
“Problem solved,” he said simply. “I’m here now.”
Chapter 4
Bishop
“Go to sleep,” I murmured. “I’m not goin’ anywhere.”
Charlie sighed and shifted, pulling the bedding up over her shoulder. After a few moments she shifted again, rolling to her back. Then again, back onto her side facing me.
“I think that nap may have fucked me,” she said ruefully. “I’m wide awake now.”
“Maybe if you close your eyes,” I replied dryly.
“How do you know they’re not already closed?”
“Because I can feel you looking at me,” I answered.
“Oh yeah?” she asked, her words quiet. “What does it feel like?”
For a moment, my mind went blank. At first I thought she was flirting with me, but then I realized she was really asking.
“It feels like someone’s watchin’ me,” I replied jokingly.
Charlie scoffed.
“It feels like electricity,” I said seriously, my voice as quiet as hers. “Like you just reached out and shocked me.”
She was silent.
“But it also feels warm and kind of relaxing,” I continued. “Like a heavy blanket or that night you slept with me and I could feel your breath on my neck all night.”
“Oh,” she whispered.
We were quiet for a while and I waited to hear the sound of the little huff of breath she let out every few seconds after she’d fallen asleep, but it never came.
“You’re still awake,” I said finally.
“Why do you call me honey?” she asked.
“What?”
“You call me honey.”
“Okay,” I said, confused. “You want me to stop?”
“No,” she replied. “I like it, actually.” She let out a quiet laugh. “It’s just not something you hear people our age say very often.”
“Really?” I hadn’t really thought about it.
“Baby,” she said. “Babe. Nicknames. Whatever. You just don’t hear honey very often.”
“Ah,” I said, finally seeing where she was going with her question. “I think I’ve called you baby.”
“You use honey more often,” she replied stubbornly.
“I had an uncle,” I began, scratching the side of my head as I got more comfortable on the couch. It was too small for me and if I straightened my legs they’d fall off the edge, but it smelled better than where I’d been sleeping for the past couple years, so I wasn’t about to complain. “I lived with him for a while. Draco tell you I grew up in foster care?”
“Yeah, he told me,” she replied.
“Well, I was in and out. My mom died when I was six—”
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“It’s alright. I mean, it shifted my entire world on its axis, obviously. But I’m good now.”
“I can’t imagine losing my mom,” she said roughly. “I love both my parents, but my mom is it, you know? She’s my person.”
“Yeah, honey,” I replied. “I get it.”
“Sorry, keep going. You had an uncle?”
“Yeah, he was my mom’s uncle, actually. So, when my mom died I went into the system. Spent a couple years bein’ shuffled around—nothin’ surprisin’ there. But I was one of the rare cases that had family come lookin’ for me. Can’t tell you how surprised I was when my caseworker showed up—his name was Mr. Dangle, by the way, no fuckin’ joke.”
Charlie laughed.
“Anyway, he showed up one day and said, ‘Let’s go, your uncle’s pickin’ you up.’ Drove me across town to his office with my bag of stuff and there’s this old man standin’ in the lobby. I mean, I swear to God, he looked older than dirt, but he’d really churched it up for the occasion, hair slicked down, flannel shirt tucked into his jeans, the whole deal.”
“Aw,” Charlie said. “I like this story.”
It was my turn to laugh.
“Uncle Beau,” I said, still smiling. “He was a tough old dude. He looked me up and down, said, ‘You’re a hard man to find,’ grabbed my bag and my hand—I was almost ten and way too big for hand-holdin’ by then—and walked us straight out of the office to his beat-up old Bronco. Drove straight to McDonalds for lunch.”
“So he was your favorite person, obviously.”
“He was,” I replied with a laugh. “Beauregard Augustus Bishop. I was named after him. I guess he’d been looking for me for a while. He hadn’t found out about my mom’s death for more than a year after she was gone, but he started searching as soon as he knew. Gettin’ a kid out of foster care isn’t easy—even if you’re family—and he’d had to jump through a lot of hoops. Took a while.”
“But he found you,” she said happily.
“He did. Took me in and I lived with him in this little trailer park until I was fifteen. There was a lady next door that was always outside in her garden, I called her Dottie, but her name was Dorothy. She and my uncle had been together for more years than I’d been alive, but they never lived together. I never asked why.”