Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
She’d bought it before her mental health struggles, which was the only reason they had it. Land had been a whole lot cheaper back then. Shane had put in a separate driveway that led to his house, which could be seen from his mom’s. It was ridiculous, really. It wasn’t as if she was coming and going from her own driveway very often, but it made him feel as though he had some space, as though his house was really just his, instead of being attached to his mom at thirty years old.
And he likely always would be. Who else did she have? Who else did either of them have?
Shane climbed out of the truck. He didn’t bother locking it because he really didn’t have to worry about things like that in Last Chance. Plus, everyone knew that was his place and Shane didn’t take shit the way he’d done as a child.
As soon as he walked inside his small, cabin-like house, Shane stepped out of his shoes. It was rustic, which had always been his style. Lots of wood and earth tones. He went into the kitchen, stepping around the island, and filled a glass of water. There was a sliding glass door on the far wall which led to a deck and his hot tub. It faced the opposite direction as his mom’s place, something he’d done purposefully when he’d drawn up his design for the place. He drank the water as he made his way down the hallway to his room.
He set the glass down, stripped, and went straight into the bathroom for a shower.
Shane turned the water on, thought about shaving the stubble on his face, but didn’t feel like it. Instead, he stepped under the spray, letting the hot water work his tired muscles, before he rubbed one out. Living there, he did a lot more jerking off than he did coming with someone else.
He typically made the drive to Portland about once every month. It was only an hour away, but crazy as it sounded, he always felt guilty when he went. Not because of the fucking of course, but because he couldn’t stop himself from constantly worrying about his mom.
Shane finished showering and then pulled on a pair of worn jeans with a hole in the knee and a tee. Once he finished getting ready, he went outside and jogged over to the small house that his mom rarely left.
“Hey, Shaney.” She smiled at him when he stepped inside. She looks good today. She still had her ups and downs, of course, some times were better than others. The past couple years had been filled with more downs, more panic attacks. She basically only left the house when he took her to her doctor or therapist appointments, and even that was a struggle.
It was something they had to work up to and prepare for. There was almost always a crash afterward—a period of days or weeks where she wouldn’t get out of bed unless he forced her.
It didn’t take leaving for those crashes to happen either. Sometimes, they didn’t need a reason at all. Other times, it would be because she missed his dad or felt guilty that she needed Shane so much. Shane figured the real reason was her depression, but sometimes it was easier to have another excuse.
Her knitting club helped sometimes. And her friends from game night. It was something Shane insisted on. It would be better if his mom went out to spend time with people instead, but at least it still kept her social.
“Hi.” He bent down and kissed her forehead. She was sitting at the table working on a puzzle. She loved those damn things.
“How was work?” she asked.
He took the chair across from her and talked about his day. Afterward, she got up and made spaghetti for dinner. They ate and talked and laughed.
He loved it when she was happy. When he could forget how debilitating even the easiest things could be for her sometimes. It nearly ripped his fucking heart out each and every time a panic attack happened.
Shane spent a couple hours visiting with her before he pushed to his feet. “I’m going to go have a beer with Ryan tonight at Round Table. I’ll have my phone with me, of course.” He always kept his phone with him.
She smiled. “You spend a lot of time with him….”
He rolled his eyes. “Not really, and he’s straight, Ma. Can you stop trying to hook me up?” Any time he mentioned a friend, she prodded him about whether it could be more. She’d even gone as far as to create profiles on dating websites for him. He knew it came from the heart—and her guilt—but it still drove him fucking crazy.
What would he do if he met someone in Portland or elsewhere? It wasn’t as though he was going anywhere, and Last Chance didn’t have much to offer outsiders.