Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
“The line’s going to snap. Give it here. You don’t know what you’re doing.”
“Fuck you. I’m doing fine,” Max replied.
The pole bent. Maxwell pulled it back, just as Shane reached for it.
“Give it to me, Maxwell,” he said as the pole bent sharply again.
“Van,” Maxwell snapped, handing it over. The rod almost slipped out of Shane’s hands.
“Truck,” he said as he gripped his fishing pole tighter. “But I have to admit, I don’t get this game.” Why in the hell had Maxwell shouted “van” at him?
“It’s my name. I don’t go by Max anymore. I haven’t been called that in twelve years. Maxwell is the boy who lived here, the one who lived under my father’s thumb. My name is Van.”
That caught Shane’s attention. He looked at Maxwell—Van—and forgot about the fish on the line for one second, before he heard the line snap, and he said, “Shit. Well, that’s kind of a stupid name, isn’t it?”
“Fuck you. It’s sexy!” Van said, smiling despite himself. “You’re the first man I’ve met who hasn’t thought my name is hot.”
It was weird as hell to hear him say things like that—to talk about men. It was weird as hell to be there with Max—Van at all. “Sounds stupid to me,” Shane replied. “And you made me lose my fish.”
“It came from Sullivan, and you made you lose your fish. I didn’t ask you to stop and call my name dumb.”
“Stupid, I said it’s stupid.”
Van cocked a brow at him. “Is there a difference?”
No…he guessed there wasn’t. Shane sighed, before plopping down in his chair. Now that he’d vented, his anger at Van was all but gone, the only thing left was…curiosity. And he wasn’t sure he liked that. If he was being honest, he’d admit his anger was nearly gone at hearing Van had spent hours with his mom when she needed him.
Guilt bled its way in now. “He was physically abusive?” he asked, because he needed to hear it.
“Yes,” he replied simply, before sitting in the dirt again. “And mentally.”
Flashes of the past pieced themselves together in Shane’s head—black eyes, swollen lips—none of them he’d ever questioned. None that anyone else had ever questioned either. Who would? Not when it was Maxwell Sullivan and Maxwell Sullivan Senior they were talking about. “You broke your wrist in the eighth grade.”
“He broke my wrist in the eighth grade. I believe the story was I fell off a horse, but he was pissed at me because he heard me tell my mom I wanted to stop playing football and asked about art lessons for Christmas. I never did that again. He was upset I’d gotten hurt so badly because it could have fucked up my football career.”
“Jesus.” A heaviness rested on Shane’s chest. He’d never known. No one had…or they hadn’t wanted to know. “It was that bad?”
Van shrugged. “Not all the time.” He shook his head. “I don’t want to do this. That’s not why I came out here. I just…I wanted you to know I’m sorry. And I’m not the same person anymore.”
He made a move to stand, and Shane found himself asking, “You want a drink? I have two beers. I’ll give you one.”
“Isn’t it a little early for beer?” Van asked.
“Not today, it’s not.” Shane leaned over and opened the cooler behind him. He pulled out the only two beers that he’d brought, because he needed to drive, and handed one to Max—Van—that was going to be hard to get used to.
They cracked them open, and both took a few swallows. Van drew in the dirt with his finger and Shane watched him, trying to figure him out. He wondered if things had been different, if he and Van could have been friends.
“I can fix your line for you…ya know, since it was my fault and everything.” Van winked at him. Shane handed his gear over, just for something to do, watching as Van replaced the line. His fingers looked rough—calloused in a way they hadn’t as kids, but then his hadn’t looked that way back then either.
“I’m trying to figure out what to say to you,” he admitted. “There’s not a chance in hell I ever saw us sitting together like this.”
“Talk to me like you would anyone else,” Van replied. “Or don’t talk to me at all. I’m not real fond of that second option but I understand if that’s what you want.”
He should want to walk away. Maybe part of him did, but Shane didn’t work that way. “You’re here because of your father’s death?” he asked.
Van’s muscles tensed up. “No. I would never come here for him. I’m not sure I should be here at all but my mom asked, so I came. She’s struggling and needed my help with a few things. He was the most important thing in her life.”