Total pages in book: 213
Estimated words: 201920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1010(@200wpm)___ 808(@250wpm)___ 673(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 201920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1010(@200wpm)___ 808(@250wpm)___ 673(@300wpm)
My knuckles rap on the worn-out buffet table in front of the window as he asks me, “She getting to you?”
Is Chloe Rose getting to me?
She’s always gotten to me.
I don’t answer him, instead, I try to make up a lie, but it doesn’t occur to me that the lie is a truth until the words are spoken. “Being here just reminds me of family,” I tell him. My spine stiffens and a chill runs through me.
“Shit, man,” Carter tells me, “I’m sorry.” As if it’s his fault. As if he has anything at all to be sorry about.
I shake it off, hating that tonight of all nights I’m making this about me. That I can’t focus and be there for my only friend.
“How did the treatment go?” I ask him. And the look on his face instantly changes. The sympathy morphs into anguish.
He doesn’t say anything, although he tries. Instead, he looks me in the eyes and shakes his head.
My heart drops down to the pit of my stomach. “Fuck.” It’s all I can give him and then we’re both looking out the window.
“Tell me something good.”
His request catches me off guard and I consider him for a moment.
Something good. It takes me longer than it should to think of something. All thoughts lead back to Chloe Rose.
“I fucked Chlo last night,” I tell him. “I was her first.”
“Shit, really?” he asks. “She’s twenty?” I nod, waiting for him to say something else. For him to understand what it meant to me. But I don’t think he will. No one will. They don’t get it. I don’t even understand it.
Ever since I laid eyes on her, she was mine. It didn’t matter that I didn’t want anyone, because I didn’t have a choice. She was mine. Fate picked her for me, and vice versa. Last night was meant to happen. I know it.
The sound of the door opening distracts us both, drawing our attention to the front door we can’t see.
Carter grabs the edge of the buffet tighter at the sound of his dad calling out for him. “Back here,” he replies and steels himself, staring straight ahead and trying to relax his posture.
I fucking hate it. I hate how he’s scared of his own father. He tells me it’s the way it is and that it’s no different from how his father was raised, but that doesn’t make it right.
I expect his father to be drunk and angry, like the last few times I’ve seen him. He pissed himself the one night he was so hammered, we had to drag him home.
His steps get louder and then the old man is right in front of us, his hands slipping into his pockets as he leans against the doorway. “You two eat already?” he asks us and gives me a short nod before pulling out a smoke.
He lights up as we answer him. I can feel the aggression rolling off of me, my expression getting tighter, but I know that’s no good for Carter. He doesn’t want a war, he just wants to do what’s right by his mom.
Mr. Cross walks to the dining room table, sifting through the bills and puffing on his cigarette.
“How is she?” Carter asks him, and I glance between the two of them. His father’s expression falters for a split second before he changes it to something else, something stronger than the weak man who’s withering away just as his wife is.
He nods at Carter and tells him, “She had a good day.” With his lips pressed in a thin line, he tells us he’s going to bed. Carter told me the days he doesn’t drink are different, but I haven’t seen him like this in a long time. A long damn time. It’s been two years of hell, with my hate growing for this man, but seeing him sober is different.
Carter nudges me as his father starts to walk away and I reach in my back pocket for the cash. “Mr. Cross,” I call out to him and take the three steps forward to pass him the bundle. “I just wanted to help out if you’ll take it,” I offer. “I won it on a bet and I don’t need it.”
“I wish I had the decency not to,” he answers me. “This isn’t charity.”
“Call it a loan then,” I answer him quickly as he tries to give it back. Taking a step away from him, I tell him, “I don’t care either way.” He nods his head in agreement, but the old man’s eyes turn paler and glossy.
It’s quiet for a long time as I watch the man do his best not to break down in front of me, tapping the wad of cash against his palm.
“I don’t know how to tell your brothers.” He talks to Carter without looking at me, staring down at the cash before slapping it down on the dining room table. The strength he had diminishes, and his face crumples with hopelessness.