Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 147136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 736(@200wpm)___ 589(@250wpm)___ 490(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 736(@200wpm)___ 589(@250wpm)___ 490(@300wpm)
“You’re acting weird,” he pointed out, coming to stand beside me.
“No, I’m not,” I argued, even though I knew he was right.
I was never this eager about checking the mail. It only ever contained bills.
I fished through the envelopes and sale flyers.
“I’m hoping my new Target Red Card is in here. I want to start earning my five percent off.”
Lie.
“That couldn’t wait until after we got back from the beach?” Brian asked.
I turned my head and looked at him, my hands stilling their search.
“I might want to stop on our way home and pick something up,” I explained, committing to my story. “And I’ll be upset if we do that and then get home and my card was here waiting for me. Five percent is five percent.”
His mouth twitched.
“You’re a cute liar, Wild.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“Thank you, but I’m not lying,” I lied. “Now, if you don’t mind …” I turned my head back to the counter and resumed fishing through the mail, ignoring Brian’s deep, muted chuckle, then spotted the envelope I was looking for. “Here!” I picked it up, swiveled, and held it out for Brian to take.
“That’s not from Target,” he stated, taking the envelope and studying it.
It was addressed to him and had a P.O. box for the return. No name for the sender.
I tilted my head with a smile.
“I’m a cute liar. What can I say?” I shrugged, watching the slow shake of his head. “Open it.”
“You know what this is?”
I nodded and grabbed a stray lock of hair and started twirling it while Brian ripped open the envelope and pulled out the contents—a folded piece of paper and a check.
“Holy fuck,” he muttered, looking at the check first. His eyes lifted to mine.
“Read the letter.” I tapped the folded paper in his hand.
Brian sat the check down on the counter and unfolded the letter, then he proceeded to read it, breathing slowly and evenly then quicker and a little stressed, not anxious, more like when you’re excited about something.
When he reached the end of the letter, all of the air left his lungs in a pant.
He lifted his eyes to me again. They were round now, the whites swallowing up his green. He looked shocked.
“Wild, you knew?” he asked, stepping closer.
I took the letter from him.
“I did,” I said, placing the letter on the counter next to the check, then looking up at Brian. “They wanted to make sure we’d be home when they mailed this.”
Brian stared at me. His lips were slightly parted and he was back to breathing slow.
I stepped closer until our fronts were touching and placed my hands on his chest.
“That money you gave when you sold to Jamie, Owen’s parents barely tapped into it, and because of you and everything you’d already given them, they don’t have use for this money. It’s yours, Brian. They wanted you to have it back.”
“But …” His eyes slid to the check, then back to my face, as his hands held my hips. “They’re caught up? They’re good? You’re sure?”
“I’m sure,” I replied, tipping my chin up. “You did an amazing thing, helping them. They appreciated it so much.”
I watched his neck work with a swallow.
“What do you want to do with the money?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I don’t need it.”
“Can I make a suggestion?”
He looked at my mouth, nodding.
“You could be part owner of Wax again.”
He contemplated this for all of two seconds, then argued, “I’m fine with just working there.”
“But you said it was your dream growing up.”
His hands slid around to my back and he jerked me closer.
“I’m holding my fuckin’ dream,” he muttered, tilting his head down and smiling lazily.
My heart fluttered. And wouldn’t you know it, the flip and twist happened.
“You give me butterflies,” I shared, sounding breathless, watching his lazy smile grow so it lifted both sides of his mouth now. “And I love being your dream, but I want you to have all of your dreams, Brian, just like you’ve given me all of mine.”
His eyes went soft and absorbing. Then he pulled in a slow breath, let it out while looking over at the check again, thought for a beat, and optioned, “What about something in memory of Owen? Like a fund or something?” He looked at me. “Might be able to put something together with Mona, the woman who runs the riding place. Have a thing set up so families who can’t afford it can get the therapy. I don’t know. Is that dumb?”
I sucked on my lip to keep it from trembling.
My boy had the most selfless heart in the world. I was sure of it.
“No,” I said quickly, fighting against my emotions, sliding my hands around his neck and squeezing there. “No, that’s not dumb at all. That’s sweet, Trouble.”
His lip twitched.