Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 84250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
"Why don't you have a fucking dependable car?" he growls as he leans back over it again.
I can tell he's talking more to himself than to me, but I'm seconds away from clawing the man's eyes out. Walking home in the dark is sounding more and more appealing right now.
"Maybe you have the luxury of buying a new car, but I don't. Check your small-town, everybody-has-your-back privilege, asshole," I growl.
He stands, the lights on the side of the wall I'm parked near glinting off his face. "Maybe you should've been more responsible with Hux's payout."
My jaw literally hangs open. "Are you serious?"
He shrugs his shoulders before bending back down to inspect my motor. I fight the urge to slam the damn hood down on his head.
"I don't know if you know anything about kids, but they aren't exactly cheap. I know you're chock full of opinions, but it's none of your damn business what I did with that money. Besides, twelve grand doesn't go very fucking far."
"Twelve? What the hell are you talking about? Twelve wouldn't get you very far but that four hundred thousand could've gone a long way. Maybe a car built in this century?"
"Four hundred? Have you lost your mind?"
He stands, wiping his hands on his jeans, and the grease left behind on them is just one more thing to feel guilty about.
"The SGLI payout is four hundred thousand, Claire."
I blink at him. "What?"
"You're serious?"
"What?" I repeat, the threat of tears burning the backs of my eyes.
"Claire," he says, taking a step closer to me, but he freezes when I hold my hand up and take a step away from him. "You don't have a damn clue what I'm talking about, do you?"
"I got twelve," I whisper.
"You need to get an attorney because you might have money waiting for you."
My mouth opens, but no sound comes out. I know better than to let any form of hope climb inside of me. It's just not how my life ever plays out.
"Crank your car, Claire, since you're in such a hurry to get away from me."
Guilt swims inside of me. Instead of arguing, I listen to him, grateful when I put the key in and turn it, the car starts. He closes the hood and walks away before I can even thank him for helping me.
Maybe if I weren't so shocked by what happened between the two of us, combined with the bomb he just dropped on my life, I might've had more manners. Instead of climbing out of my car and following him to his truck, I close the car door and drive out of the parking lot.
I hate the emptiness of my house when I get there, and I don't even bother turning on the lights in the bathroom before stripping and climbing into the shower.
Every second I wash his touch from my skin, I can't stop thinking about the way we came together tonight. It was perfect. At least for me anyway. Then his words infiltrate, and by the time I climb out, dry off, and get pajamas on, I can't resist the urge to look up payout benefits for deceased veterans.
Sure enough, it says that there's a four-hundred-thousand-dollar payout through something called the Servicemembers' Group Life Insurance. And to think I felt lucky when I received the little over twelve thousand I got.
I know tomorrow is my one day to spend uninterrupted with Larkin, but I'm already wishing it were Monday so I could see about an attorney to figure out if the SGLI is something I qualify for. Even a quarter of that amount of money would change my entire life.
Chapter 17
Walker
"Did you finally get busted giving adolescents alcohol?"
That's how Barrett Hyde, the local attorney, answers the phone when I call him first thing Sunday morning.
"You finally move out of your grandmother's house?" I jab back.
He scoffs. "I own the house. Grandmother lives with me."
I've heard it a million times before. The part he doesn't explain is that he bought the house after law school when his grandparents about went bankrupt putting him through school. It was a bailout filled with guilt more than anything else.
"Is it hard for you to bring women home?" I continue, knowing almost verbatim his response before he even opens his mouth.
"I'd never disrespect Grandmother that way. I take my ladies to the hotel out on the highway. They have a special on the Jacuzzi tubs the third weekend of the month."
"If you knew how to please a woman, you wouldn't need a jetted tub to get the job done."
"At least I didn't jizz in my pants in a janitor's closet," he snaps.
I huff a laugh. "I bet you fucking did but the girl who made you do it didn't go tell a friend who then told the whole school about it."