Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 101398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
But when I hit rock bottom in New York and needed a new life a few years later, Clay and Red Bridge welcomed me with open arms. We’re as close as two grown assholes can be, but since I’ve known him since we were kids, I also know when the vein in the center of his forehead starts popping out to say hello, he’s getting pissed.
“You can take a breath,” I say through a grimace because, again, kegs full of beer aren’t light. “I didn’t even see your ex.”
I adjust the keg in my arms so I don’t drop it, and when I realize he’s going to keep standing there and not help, I carry the fucker inside the back door of The Country Club myself.
Clay follows me in, probably too busy thinking about his ex-wife Josie Ellis than realizing he’s shit at sharing the load of work that shouldn’t even be mine. It’s his damn bar. I’m just helping out.
“But her sister…what happened with her, Ben?”
See what I mean?
I set the keg down behind the big mahogany bar. “On my way back into town, after picking up your kegs, she waved me down for a ride.” I don’t get into the whole “she recklessly dove in front of my truck” or “I dropped her off in the middle of the road because she’s a pain in the ass” parts because it’ll spur more questions from Clay, and well, I don’t feel like answering more questions from Clay.
I just want to drop off the kegs and head back home. I’ve got way more important shit to see to than Clay’s would-have-been love life.
“And what did Josie say about her sister being in town? Was she surprised? Angry?” he questions. “She doesn’t have the best relationship with her family.”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“I didn’t hang around for the family reunion,” I lie on a sigh. Truthfully, I hung around long enough to see that Josie let her inside her house. “Now, are you going to help me move your last two kegs out of my truck, or should I just do it myself?”
“You’re such a dick sometimes, Ben.”
“Me?” I laugh. “The guy who drove forty minutes to pick up your kegs and is currently helping you move them into your bar?”
“The guy who doesn’t know shit about anything, even though he was all up in the shit today.”
I put both hands on my hips and stare back at him. “I take it we’re still talking about Josie right now?”
He just groans and gets to work on replacing the old keg with the new.
You’d think a relationship that ended in divorce—before I even got to Red Bridge—would be long past the point of affecting Clay, but I guess that’s not the case.
And since I’m not a nosy asshole, I leave him to stew in whatever it is he’s cooking up in his mind and head back to my truck to get another keg. I don’t know all the details of the Clay and Josie saga, but I know enough to know he’s not quite over it. Not over her.
I also know that Josie pretty much hates him.
But that’s love for you. It’s a sucker’s game, and exactly why women don’t spark anything besides apathy from me—even ones with big brown eyes, wild curls, perky tits, and no sense of self-preservation.
I had to cultivate indifference when I came to Red Bridge because my life was a dumpster fire, and I needed desperately to put out the flames.
Though, some might argue that ending up in the back of a cop car in handcuffs for arson qualifies as worse than a dumpster fire. My sister Breezy would certainly agree, but I don’t waste my time hanging around in the past.
I’ve moved on from that part of my life, and there isn’t anyone or anything that will get in the way of that.
My biggest, most important priority makes sure of that.
Tuesday, August 3rd
Norah
A dark shadow hovers over me, and every muscle in my body locks on itself as I scream. Shrill and terror-ridden, the sound of my shout could shatter bulletproof glass, but my psychotic sister responds with only a laugh.
“Chill, it’s just me.”
My breathing is erratic as she shifts to the side and into the moonlight streaming in from the window of her guest room. I’m still drowsy, body heavy with sleep, but the power of her smirk compels me. I sit up quickly, dragging the sheet up over my air-chilled chest.
“What’s wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?”
Instead of speaking, she moves from the space in front of me, silently but with purpose, and I instantly know why when the bright overhead light pierces me directly in the eyeballs. An evil sister doesn’t warn a person before she gives them an instant migraine—she just does it.