Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 86741 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86741 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
“Really soon. I already organized it. Just have to take pictures of some of the stuff that’s in good condition to sell online and I’ll donate the rest.”
“Good.”
It was quiet so I took the opportunity to bring the club back and swing at the ball. The club hit the ball, but the ball didn’t go very far. Not nearly as far as Roland’s.
“That was a shitty swing,” I said, huffing a laugh. “Maybe I need a professional’s guidance.” When I looked at him, he wasn’t smiling or laughing with me. His face was serious as he watched me.
“Did you find anything in there?” he asked. His voice was different. Not light and easygoing like it was seconds ago. It was deeper. Huskier.
“Anything like what?” I gripped the handle of the club tighter, feeling a drop in my belly.
“I don’t know. Something you think I should know about.”
“No,” I said quickly. “It’s just clothes and books and jewelry. Not much.”
His face remained the same. Somber. Unsmiling. Then he turned toward the golf cart and climbed behind the wheel. “Riding with me to the next hole?”
“Yep.”
I climbed into the cart, but as we drove I heard someone shouting my name. With a frown, I looked over my shoulder and spotted someone walking onto the golf course from the direction of the mansion.
Roland stopped driving and looked back too. “Who the hell is that?”
The person got closer. Closer. And I gasped when I realized who he was.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
“Shit! That’s Kell!”
My brother was storming onto the green, his brows furrowed and his jaw tight. He had on jeans and a wrinkled T-shirt, as if he hadn’t changed clothes in days.
“Kell?” Roland asked. “Your brother? But how did he find you?”
I wanted to answer, but my tongue was stuck in my mouth, heavy and swollen. Roland glanced at me before climbing off the cart, turning to face my brother, ready to greet him.
But Kell wasn’t having it. As soon as my brother was close enough, Kell brought his arm back and punched Roland square in the face, and Roland’s head went flying backwards, his eyes wide with shock.
“Kell!” I screamed, climbing out of the golf cart.
“What are you doing to my sister, huh? You think you’re gonna hurt her too and get away with it?” Kell shoved Roland against the chest, and though Kell had always seemed pretty strong to me, his strength was nothing in comparison to Roland’s. Roland was broad in the chest and shoulders, while Kell was lean in those areas. Plus Roland was several inches taller.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Roland snapped, his eyes nearly bulging out of his head as he looked between Kell and me.
I didn’t even know what to say. All I could do was watch, tongue still swollen like a dead fish.
“Did he hurt you?” Kell demanded.
“No, Kell! He didn’t hurt me!” I finally shouted. “Why would you hit him?”
“You told me to hurry, Samira! I got on the first flight I could and I’m here now!”
“You told him to hurry?” Roland countered. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
I looked at him and his bottom lip was bleeding.
“No, Roland, I—it’s not like that. I just told him to hurry and come see me. I really wanted to talk to him in person.”
“Really?” Roland swiped a thumb over his bleeding bottom lip. “So your brother punching me on sight doesn’t have anything to do with you telling him to hurry?”
“Roland, I—”
“No—you know what? Don’t bother. I get it. I see now you’re just like everyone else.” He stepped away. “I mean, fuck, Samira. If you don’t trust me, why the hell did you marry me? Why the hell did you let me bring you all the way here to be with me if you thought for even a second we’d end up where we are now?”
Roland stared at me and there was anguish in his eyes, so raw it pained me too. My heart ached for him and I wanted to cry, especially when I noticed tears lining the rims of his eyes, but he wouldn’t cry in front of me or Kell. Roland didn’t seem like much of a crier, and if he ever did, I was sure he did it in private. Never with an audience.
“I’ll be at the house icing my lip,” Roland grumbled, then he walked away. Not once did he look back and he didn’t even bother taking his clubs with him. That’s how I knew he was pissed and hurt. He loved those clubs. They were custom made for him and he cleaned them almost every other night.
I faced my brother and threw my hands in the air. “Kell, what the hell, man? When I text you to hurry, it doesn’t mean hurry to punch him in the face!”