Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 103428 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 517(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103428 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 517(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
The alcohol started to hit—either that or my apartment was spinning faster than a ride at Disney. So I laid back on the couch with the photo still in my hands, and I shut my eyes with one foot on the floor to keep me grounded. It didn’t take long until I drifted off to sleep. Sometime later, a loud banging on my door woke me up.
At least I thought someone had been banging. But as I sat up and glanced around, my apartment was silent. Ugh. But my head. Apparently, the pounding I’d thought was coming from the door was coming from my brain.
Tha-thump, tha-thump.
Fuck. It felt like a little drummer boy was inside my skull practicing for a solo. I dropped my head into my hands and massaged my temples. But then the loud banging in my head turned into surround sound, and a voice joined in with the band.
“Crawford, open the damn door before I break it down. I know you’re in there.”
Fuck.
I needed Will riding my ass right now like I needed a hole in the head.
“Go away! I’m fine,” I yelled back.
“Not good enough. Get your ass up and open the door.”
I closed my eyes and shook my head, knowing the pain in the ass was not going anywhere. Basically, the faster I dragged my ass to the door, the faster I could get rid of him.
When I stood from the couch, I barely stuck the landing.
Damn, I suck at drinking.
I tried to move my head as little as possible as I treaded to the front door and unlocked it.
Will opened the door and looked me up and down. “Jesus Christ, those are the clothes you were in two days ago. I knew you weren’t out of town.” He leaned forward and sniffed. “And you stink like stale liquor.” He shook his head. “How many times do I have to tell you to leave the drinking to me? You never could develop a tolerance worth shit.”
I started back to the couch without saying a word. Unfortunately, seeing I was alive wasn’t good enough. Will shut the door behind him and followed me in.
“What the hell is going on with you?”
I sat down on the couch with my head hanging. It was too heavy to hold up.
Will looked at the shit strewn all over the coffee table. “Oh fuck. What happened?” He bent and picked up the tiny baby cap Eloise wore the day she was born.
“Don’t touch that,” I managed to grumble.
He sighed loudly and walked away. I hoped maybe he’d realized I was going through something and decided to respect my privacy. But he came back two minutes later.
“Take these.” He held out a few pills and a tall glass of water. “Three Motrin and hydrate to start.” Then he started typing on his phone. “I’m ordering Gatorade, bananas, and a pastrami on rye from the deli down the block that delivers.”
I squinted up at him. “There’s no way I could eat pastrami.”
“That’s not for you, jackass. It’s for me. I’m starving. You’ll have the Gatorade and bananas. You need electrolytes and potassium.” He finished typing and tossed his phone on the couch, taking the seat across from me. “Talk to me. What happened?”
I was in no mood to converse. I shook my head.
“How long have we been friends?” he said.
“Too long,” I grumbled.
“Then you should know by now that I’m not going anywhere until we talk it out.”
“I can barely keep down the Motrin you just gave me. I’m not up for conversation.”
“It’s alright.” He shrugged. “I’m in no rush.”
Great. He’s here for the long haul.
“Why don’t you lie down for a bit and wait for the headache to subside? I have some emails to answer anyway.”
I would’ve preferred he just disappear, but I’d take silence if that was all I could get. So I did what he said and laid back down on the couch, propping my feet up on the armrest and shutting my eyes. I was in and out of consciousness for a while after that, until the sound of a bag crumpling opened one eye.
“Any better?” Will asked.
I swung my legs down to the floor and sat up. It felt like a Mack truck had run me over, then backed up and run me over a second time in reverse, but the Motrin seemed to have taken the edge off the pounding in my head, at least.
I rubbed the back of my neck. “You got that Gatorade?”
Will held it out, along with a banana.
Twenty minutes later, I still didn’t feel like talking, but at least I was capable of it. Will had finished his sandwich, kicked off his shoes, and had his feet propped up on a corner of the coffee table with his arms spread wide across the top of the couch.