Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 67144 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67144 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
“More questions than answers, really. For example, if you consume half of a five-hour energy drink, do you get two and a half hours of energy, or five hours’ worth in two and a half hours?”
I chuckle, shaking my head.
“When you’re at the movie theater, which armrest is yours? It can’t be both because every other person won’t have one. I mean, the newer theaters have individual seats, so the obvious answer is to go to one of them. But the older ones are more cost-effective for a guy on a budget, so it’s a problem. Also, why is there a caloric number on a pack of gum? You’re chewing it, not eating it.”
“And you thought of all this while hanging on the gutter?”
“Yeah. Then I realized the number nine is brown, and that really fucked me up.”
Huh? “You know what? I’m not even going to touch that one.”
He shrugs, unbothered, and shoves half of his burger into his mouth. He speaks again, but it’s garbled.
“It’s perfectly acceptable to wait until you swallow to talk,” I say.
Travis rolls his eyes, swallows, and then reaches for his drink. “I asked you what you did today.”
“I’m in the office this week, so I got caught up on paperwork. Ford had me ride along to a couple of meetings this afternoon. Otherwise, not much.”
“Where are you heading next?”
I put my burger on the wrapper and exhale. Travis slows his chewing and sets his down as well. He understands what I’m about to say without me saying it—the gist of it anyway. The ability to read each other like a book is the product of our youth.
“What’s going on?” he asks, his brow lifted.
The tension I’ve been warring with since this morning pulls at the back of my neck again. I run a hand over the top of my head and scratch my scalp. The pain causes my nervous system to release endorphins, which helps my irritation. That’s helpful because I won’t take my mood out on my brother.
“If I tell you, you’ll laugh,” I say.
“Try me.”
One corner of my mouth tugs toward the ceiling. “I have to decide whether to return to Laina’s team or to take a vacation.”
“If it were me,” he says, popping a single fry into his mouth, “I’d take the vacation.”
“I knew you’d say that.”
Travis sighs and rests his elbows on his knees. “Look, we deal with our childhood trauma differently. You keep yourself in amped-up situations so you can’t think about all the shit our parents did to us. I take the opposite approach and joke about everything to avoid my emotions.”
“Your point?”
“My point is that my way of coping is better. At least I have fun.”
I roll my eyes.
“I’m serious,” he says, laughing. “You have to balance things out—trade bullets for beaches. Shots for sand. Clients for—”
“Enough.” I shake my head, chuckling. “That’s enough analogies for one day.”
“What would be so terrible about getting away for a while?”
“It’s not that,” I admit, putting my food next to Travis’s on the coffee table and then standing. “I mean, that’s a part of it. A big part of it. But it’s just …”
I wander around my living room, taking in the decor on the walls and mantel—a collection of images and memorabilia hand-picked to make me not want to jump out of the window.
The guys from my unit and me in front of a truck moments after one of them learned he’d just become a father. A statue I bought in Italy on a whim. A picture of Travis and me on his twenty-first birthday—just before he puked all over my shirt. There’s a snapshot of our dog, Ralph, sitting beside me and Travis that I included because the way our faces are lit up in laughter is one of the few childhood images I have that capture a genuine happiness from that period.
I just have to forget that Dad kicked Ralph so hard a few minutes after Mom took this picture that Ralph limped for the rest of his life.
My eyes close, and I shove the memory out of my mind.
My life has been lived, and it’s been lived a hell of a lot harder and faster than most people. I’ve traveled, survived explosions, and saved lives. I’ve partied, read books, and climbed a volcano. I have a job I love, a house I never imagined I would afford, and a small number of people around me who I care about deeply. But still …
“It’s just what?” Travis asks.
I lean against the fireplace and look at my brother. “I don’t know. Pointless, maybe. Hollow. What’s the purpose of it all?”
His face sobers.
“I’m being dramatic.” I stop. “You know, I was around Lincoln Landry all day. It kind of makes sense that I’m acting like an asshole.”
Travis laughs.
I move back to my chair and sit. “You’re right when you say I’ve chosen to live a life that keeps me occupied, and I’ve loved every damn minute of it. It’s afforded me a great standard of living.”