Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 111860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
The way he’d felt when he’d realized she was being attacked by the man in the tent dispelled any notion that what he felt for her was the same concern he’d feel for anyone else being victimized in front of him. No, what he’d felt when he’d come upon the sight of Lennon fighting for her life was a primal response, the depth of which he hadn’t even known he possessed.
He switched the bags from one hand to the other. He’d reacted in rage at the man hurting Lennon, but he’d pulled back before going too far. In a way it was a test that he’d have never confronted if not for this particular circumstance. And he’d passed. He’d been angry—rageful, even—and terrified, too, that she was injured beyond repair. And yes, he’d expressed that using violence because it’d been the only choice. But he’d remained in control of his mind and his body, pulling back when he’d overcome the threat. And he hadn’t hesitated in responding, not even for a fraction of a second. A gust of cool relief was still blowing through him, along with the concern for Lennon and all the other feelings she stirred in him. He’d wanted to stay in that bed of hers, Lennon wrapped in his arms, more than anything he could remember wanting in a very long time. But it wasn’t right for so many reasons, and so he’d gone.
A shadow moved, and Ambrose halted, his pulse jumping as he reached for his gun. The shadow stepped from the turn in the hallway, becoming a man. Ambrose let out a slow hiss of breath, dropping his hand from the holster at his waist. “For the love of Christ, Finch. I might have shot you.”
The man grinned as he approached. “You can’t kill me, Ambrose. Don’t you know I’ve got nine lives?”
Ambrose grinned back and then pulled Finch into a hug as they both laughed. “Yeah, I know, but I don’t want to take any of your last remaining ones. You’ve got a fight on your hands, and we’re all counting on you to win it.”
At the mention of his current fight, Finch removed the beanie he was wearing and ran a hand over what had once been a close-cropped Afro and was now a shiny bald head. “This cancer might take my hair, brother, but it won’t take me.”
Ambrose smiled, and he felt the relief of Finch’s optimism, a necessary ingredient if he was going to win. “Come on in,” he said, using the key card to open the door. The room smelled stale, the lingering scent of a time when smoking was allowed still ingrained in the walls and the furniture. This place definitely wasn’t anything fancy, but it wasn’t the worst place he’d ever stayed, either, not by a long shot. Ambrose set the grocery bags down on the desk and closed the curtains. “I met your son the other day. He seems like a good guy.”
Finch pulled out the desk chair, flipped it around, and sat down backward. “He told me. I mean, he told me a cop and an FBI agent stopped by the center. I got this address from Doc. And Darius is a good guy. The kid has my fire and his mother’s heart. He’s a work of art, man, he really is. A human Da Vinci. I could stare at that dude all day.” He laughed. “Is that weird? Eh, wait until you have kids, you’ll get it.”
Ambrose smiled but shook his head. “No kids for me.”
“You might change your mind.”
He wouldn’t. Not on that. “Anyway, I wouldn’t expect anything less than a human work of art, with a dad like you.”
Finch ran his hand over his head again. “Thankfully the kid was so young when I got clean. If not . . .”
“Hey, no reason for regrets, Finch. You cleaned up, and you raised a great kid. That alternate life is somewhere twisting in the mist, unattached to you.”
Finch smiled. “You always did have a way with words. All that reading. Twisting in the mist. Yeah, you’re right, I know. It’s easy to get lost in the what-ifs sometimes, you know? Sitting in that chair every week while they pump chemicals into my body gives me all kinds of time to consider an alternate life, the one I was heading toward.” He paused for a minute. “Mostly, I like thinking about it. It makes me proud that I changed paths. But other times, it gives me the damn chills, you know? That kid . . . that kid would have been an entirely different person if I hadn’t gotten my shit together.”
“A lot of people would be entirely different people if not for you.”
“Nah. I only helped a few people on the final steps of their journey.”