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)
My stomach rolls.
"Can you refill this for me?" Barrett asks, pulling a flask from his pocket and setting it in front of Walker. "Whiskey, please."
Hux was careless. It's what got him killed while still in training. The folks of Lindell and his parents make him out to be this brave hero but the man never saw a day of active duty. He never lifted the barrel of his rifle in defense of his country. He was screwing around and ended up in a drop-the-grenade, throw-the-pin situation instead of doing the opposite like he was supposed to do. The other man near him that day was discharged from the military because he lost a leg and an arm. He never got to realize his own dreams of fighting for his country.
Hux didn't deserve to die for his stupidity but he's not the man they want to believe either.
Was his promise to take care of Larkin when she was born just one more thing he promised but would never see through?
Did he talk a good game because that's what he was good at? Clearly, follow-through wasn't a strong trait for him.
I don't think Hux ever thought he would die. He had an ego bigger than this great state of Texas, but it happened. Even with how angry I am with him, I know he didn't leave me with all of his debt on purpose. He wanted to live big and loud, an officer's life on a private first-class salary, and he thought he'd have every opportunity to pay off the debt he created.
"May I have a quick break?" I ask Walker, who continues to glare at Barrett like the man personally insulted him.
"Take all the time you need," he says.
I scurry away like an injured dog needing to find a quiet place to lick my wounds.
Chapter 21
Walker
I don't know who to be more pissed at, Barrett for coming up and giving her news that should've been done in a more personal manner than at the bar, or Hux for not taking care of his insurance and leaving his wife and daughter to flounder.
I know I should be most pissed at myself because this would've been a lot better of a situation if I hadn't jumped to the wrong conclusion and brought the subject up in the first place.
"Why are you always such a fucking dick?" I growl at Barrett.
I know the man is drunk, no doubt having sucked down this entire flask of whiskey since arriving here today.
"This is a wedding, asshole," I continue, thinking the man should have a little more decorum than how he's acting today. "Not a place to get drunk."
I use the tips of my fingers to slide the empty flask back in his direction.
"You're done for the night."
"I couldn't miss today, and you know it," he says, his voice elevating some with his irritation. "I hate weddings."
Barrett was the youngest guy I knew who got married. He and his high school sweetheart got married the summer before leaving for college, and it was over before their first semester began. He's been more than a little anti-women since.
"Grow the fuck up, Barry," I snarl, ignoring the short line of people behind him waiting to get a drink.
I'm tired of the frown and we'll talk about it later looks people around here like to give. Some things need to be addressed immediately.
"Do you have any idea about the concept of attorney-client privilege? Why would you walk up here and start talking to her about such sensitive matters?"
"You're paying the retainer," he reminds me.
"And as I recall, you told me that doesn’t give me the privilege to her information. Grab a cup of coffee and sober up.”
He scowls at me before swiping his empty flask off the counter and walking away, grumbling under his breath.
I'm so pissed at the man, my hands are trembling, but I can't stop doing what I'm being paid to do and go after Claire. I may not know a ton about her, but I know she wouldn't want me in her face, trying to make a bad situation better. If anything, I'd likely only make it worse.
I give the next person in line the best smile I can manage, all things considered, and ask them what they'd like to drink.
"White wine," Ruth says before leaning even closer to me by putting her forearms on the counter. "That Barrett has been drinking since he got here. He thinks he's slick, lifting that flask to his mouth behind the flap of his jacket, but after about the eighth sip, he forgot to even try and cover his face. I'm glad Maude stayed home this evening rather than her having to witness her grandson's disgrace."
"Here you are, Ruth," I say, handing her the glass of wine and refusing to engage in her topic of choice.