Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 94293 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94293 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
There was a long pause before Judge spoke again and shocked the hell out of him. “Pick up your pole.”
Michaels frowned. What?
“Pick up your pole, you haven’t had a bite in the last three hours, but you do now.” There was a hint of humor in Judge’s voice.
Michaels’ head jerked up to look at his line and sure enough the tip was bowed over. He yanked up his pole and began to reel his line in quickly. It was a good solid bite; he could feel the weight of the catch. As he wound the hook in closer, he saw it was a good-sized speckled trout. He used his net to get it inside the boat. He unhooked it and dropped it on the ice in his cooler.
With his hands at his sides he turned slowly and saw Judge sitting with his back against one of the large trees next to the dock. Bookem was lying down next to him. Waiting right along with his master. Although Michaels was only about one hundred and fifty feet away, they held eye contact for a good while before he turned and sat back down. How did he find him? Had to be Day. He was the only one that knew he was here. Had Judge really been there watching him for hours?
He hated to admit it, but the man looked so fucking good. He wanted to grab those oars and row back as fast as he could, but why set himself up for more disappointment? His phone buzzed again.
“Come talk to me.”
Michaels debated it for a while. Wasn’t like he could sit out here on this boat all night. Darkness was falling fast and soon the mosquitoes would be too much. Plus, he was hungry. He reeled in his line and picked up his oars. By the time he got back to the boat dock, Judge was there. He helped him pull the boat up and cover it.
“Hey,” Judge croaked.
Instead of returning Judge’s greeting, Michaels squatted and patted Bookem, happily showing the big beast that he’d really missed him too. Giving Judge a bored look, he stood back up, grabbed his cooler, and marched up the slight hill into the cabin. Michaels was sharp and lucid, became angry and defensive; all of those unwanted emotions expertly hidden behind a mask of nonchalance. He heard Judge’s footsteps close behind him and his low whistle when he walked through the door.
“Damn. This is cool as shit. You wouldn’t expect it to look like this from the outside.”
Michaels locked the door behind them and faced Judge. “Your dad.”
Judge dropped his head, shaking it just the slightest bit.
“I’m sorry.” Was all he could say. Michaels pulled his catch out and set it in the sink. Judge leaned against the island in the middle of the spacious kitchen, his midnight eyes drilling a hole in the back of Michaels’ head. When he walked by, Judge snagged his bicep to stop him. Michaels couldn’t look into those dark eyes so he kept his own trained on the floor. Michaels suppressed his shudder when he felt the tip of Judge’s finger graze the stitched scar on his forehead. The tingling sensation that Judge’s calloused finger left behind had him wanting to fold already.
“Forgive me,” Judge whispered.
He’d understood why Judge had needed to run off like he did, but if he was going to push him away every time something bad happened or shit got real, then he could stay gone. Michaels snatched his hand away and went to his bedroom to clean up. He closed the door behind him, his head swimming with too many thoughts. Judge wouldn’t be here if he didn’t want more than friendship. But Michaels wasn’t sure about splaying his heart back out there just so Judge could spit on it again. Michaels pinched the bridge of his nose. He went into his bathroom and turned on the water as hot as he could stand it. He avoided the mirror the best he could, not wanting to see the scratches and bruises, especially the black and blue discoloring still showing around his throat. He didn’t need any sympathetic looks or a pity fuck.
Michaels rotated his head back and forth, letting the hot water beat down on his aching muscles. If he wasn’t so hungry, he’d stay back there all night, let Judge stew for a while, like he’d done him.
He put on a pair of gray lounging pants and an APD t-shirt. He slipped his feet into his favorite leather house slippers and went back into the main room. Judge was standing in exactly the same place.
“Can I speak to you?”
“I’m going to make myself some dinner. I’m starved. You can talk. Can’t guarantee I’ll listen, though.” Michaels saw the hurt on Judge’s face. Good. Let him swim in rejection for a while. Let the tides of broken hearts rise and drown him, too. Michaels wanted Judge to feel the hurt he’d felt a million times over. His head swirling with wanting to do right and wanting revenge.