Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 158848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 158848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
“There.” I roll my head to the side and grin at him. “Was that so hard, big buddy?”
“I don’t know if I like this new, cocky Griffin Royal.”
“Same guy I’ve always been.”
“Nah, you used to fear me more.”
“You want a friendship based on fear?”
He can’t seem to come up with an answer to that one. While he’s working out a comeback, I peel myself off the floor and hold out my hand to him.
Reluctantly, he allows me to help him up.
“You got me good, fucker.” He curls his arm around his side.
This is the real reason we stopped sparring with each other. I hate hurting my best friend. And there isn’t really a “nice” way to trade blows with someone. “You asked for it.”
“I did.” He nods once.
“You went low with that kick to my bad knee.”
He grimaces. “That was shitty. Sorry.”
As much as I try to hide it, I end up limping out of the cage. It’s not even the pain as much as my knee just doesn’t want to function. I don’t want to make Remy feel worse, though, so I do what I always do and power through the pain.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Griff
“Aren’t you two getting a little old for this?” Molly places her hands on her hips and glares at us.
Molly was here, waiting on the back porch when we dragged our sorry asses home. She had not been amused to watch us stagger out of Remy’s vehicle.
She herds us into the kitchen, fuming the whole way.
“Old? We’re in the prime of our lives. This is what we do.” Remy holds his arms wide, then winces.
“Suuure.” She skewers him with a scathing look. “Real prime, old man.”
“Heh.” I limp toward her. “Tell him.”
“What are you laughing at, gangster walk?” She scowls and holds out her hand, blocking my hug.
“Hey, now.” I cock my head. “Those are fightin’ words.”
“Look at you.” Molly sighs and reaches up on tiptoes to touch my cheek. “Damn you, Remy.” She throws a scowl at her brother, then roughly grabs my chin and turns my face. “At least he didn’t cut you open.”
“I think he cracked one of my ribs,” Remy complains.
I roll my eyes. “You were being stubborn.”
“Ugh.” Molly throws her hands up. “You two can nurse each other back to health. I’m staying in my room tonight.”
She spins away, grabs her bag off the table and speed walks toward the stairs.
Remy snickers. “I think she’s mad, bro.”
“We could’ve done this Monday…or literally any other time, you know.”
He grins wider.
“Fuckin’ cock-blocking motherfucker,” I grumble.
He laughs, then hisses a pained breath. “Ow.”
“Feel that?” I point at him. “That’s Karma.”
“Yeah? What’re you naming your aches?”
“Remington.” I chuckle at my joke but he just shakes his head, then pulls another pained face.
“Maybe I should take you to urgent care,” I suggest.
He closes his eyes for a second as if he’s assessing his injuries. “No. If it gets worse, I’ll go. Right now, I want to shower and sit with some ice.”
“All my fancy ice packs I brought back with me are in the chest freezer downstairs.” I nod to the basement door.
We both stare at it.
“Think we can get Molly to run down and grab them for us?” he asks.
“Unlikely.” I wince. “She’s pretty mad.”
A few minutes later, Remy and I haven’t moved far when Molly stomps down the stairs and into the kitchen again.
“Ugh. I’m so mad at you two.” She throws her hands in the air. “But I can’t stand knowing you’re in pain.” She turns and glances at both of us. “What do you need?” she asks me.
“Ice packs.” I gesture vaguely to the basement door. “They’re in the chest freezer.”
“How many?”
“All of them,” Remy groans.
Molly growls, a sound that’s more adorable than angry, and stomps toward the door.
“This is why I didn’t wait until Monday,” Remy says. “So someone was around to nurse us back to health.”
“You’re an idiot.” I limp over to the cabinet and take a bottle of Tylenol off the shelf. It takes two tries to twist off the stupid childproof lid.
“All right. Geez, these are cold.” Molly dumps an armful of icepacks on the counter. “Who started the fight?”
“Why does it matter?” Remy asks.
“Because whoever started it,” she says slow enough to convey how irritated she is with us, “gets last dibs on the icepacks.”
I laugh and then wince at the pain spearing my cheek.
“Since no one’s answering, I’m assuming it was Remy,” Molly says.
“Hey!” Remy protests. “Why me?”
Molly glances at me and lifts an eyebrow.
“I can’t rat out my bro.” I shake my head.
Ignoring me, Molly turns toward her brother. “Take off your shirt.”
“What? Why? Just give me an icepack.”
“I want to see how badly you’re bruised.”
Remy lifts one side of his shirt up. His skin’s a pinkish red. Tomorrow it’ll probably be black-and-blue. Molly hisses out a pained breath and glares at me.