Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 34054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 170(@200wpm)___ 136(@250wpm)___ 114(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 170(@200wpm)___ 136(@250wpm)___ 114(@300wpm)
The elevator doors fling open, and my heart beats erratically. It’s like a noose circles my throat—at any moment, it could tighten and snap my neck. The sense of doom hovering over me grows with every step toward the large doors at the end of the hall. But I can’t run. The days of running away from pain are long behind me. I’m a fighter now, and there’s no way I’m letting anyone scare me off.
The frigid metal from the door handle is a reminder of the tundra I’m about to walk into.
“There you are, Miss Richmond,” Kaye says as she rushes toward me. “The guys are a little rough today. Striker and Mayhem overdid it last night.”
I peek over her shoulder at Cain, who has his feet on the coffee table while he puffs at a joint. Then I see Lars as he picks his way around a large table overflowing with food. My heart surges to see him eating, something he rarely did growing up. His mother was too busy using their grocery money to feed her habit instead of her starving son. I remember the first time he talked to me, Trevor’s moody friend, who looked like he’d been dragged to the Nar-Anon meetings.
“Mary makes a mean lasagna,” I whispered to Trevor’s friend.
I usually paid close attention to what everyone said at the meeting, but I was distracted by this guy’s cat-like honey eyes tonight. I’d never seen eyes like it. They were almost supernatural. He was paying attention to every word of those who spoke today. It reminded me of the first time I’d come here. After two years of living with my personal nightmare, I stopped feeling so alone.
“Yeah, it tastes good. If Mary always brings this to the meetings, y’all will see me here every damn week.”
“You think this is good? Wait until you taste her roasted chicken.” I lifted my fingers to my lips and kissed them. “Chef’s kiss.”
He smiled at me, but it didn’t reach his eyes. A smile with a side of sorrow. “My mom made a mean roasted chicken before”—he shrugged—“you know.”
I nodded. “My mom never made roasted chicken or anything. But she used to be here.”
“Yes,” he said. “I’d give anything to have my mother back. I’m not even sure who this lady is that I live with. She’s out of it or going somewhere to get something to be out of it.”
“How’d she get hooked?” I asked and instantly regretted it. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that.”
“It’s okay. My dad and her got into a car accident six years ago. He died, and she had some complications. The doctors gave her some pain meds, and that was the beginning of the end. To be honest, I’m not sure why I’m even here. My mom’s gonna die, and then it’ll all be over.”
The way he spoke about his mother’s eventual death took me aback. It broke my heart how cavalier he’d seemed about it. Sure, he wasn’t a kid anymore. I assumed he was eighteen, like Trev and me, but it was still his mom. I couldn’t help thinking how bad off his mom must be for him to assume she was near the end. I hoped when her time came, it wouldn’t be him who found her body.
“Why don’t you pack some of the grub, and we’ll head to the shack,” Cain, Trevor’s other friend, said as he smacked Lars’ back. “Trev is up for a jam session.”
Lars had the smoldering tortured artist appeal, but Cain had that “I’m so huge that you’ll look like a little mouse standing beside me” appeal. I was five foot seven, and the guy was so huge that I only came to his armpit. The expression “climb him like a monkey” described guys like Cain.
“You want to come along, Billie?” Trevor asked with the sweetest smile.
I liked Trevor. A smart kid with an enormous heart. Trevor was always kind to everyone, no matter who. He was a pure soul. Of the three of them, it was Trevor who looked like he didn’t belong. He was a genuinely sweet soul who everyone wanted to be around. Trevor was the light, even though he was surrounded by darkness.
“You can come,” Cain said.
“You play an instrument, Billie?” Lars asked.
I smiled. “I played piano a bit as a kid, but I’m not very good, I’m afraid. But I love music.”
“Oh, yeah? What’s your favorite band?” Cain asked, biting into a carrot stick.
I crossed my arms, a little irritated that I was being quizzed. “Nirvana.”
Cain nodded. “Respect. You can roll with us.”
“Billie Goat Gruff,” Lars shouts, arms raised as he tries to balance his giant plate of food. “Did you have a good night?”
I shake my head to banish the past and step toward him. “I did, thank you.”