Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 74882 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74882 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
“Hi, uh, it’s Sheridan.”
Silence.
“I’m with Camilo.” I pause, taking a deep breath. “He’s doing terrible.”
“I should be there with my son.”
“You should,” I agree. “When will you be here?”
More silence.
“The tickets are ridiculously expensive and—”
“I’ll book them,” I bark out, cutting her off. “Is Eduardo coming too? I think Camilo could use his support too.”
She starts to protest, but I already have my phone pulled up and am searching flights. It takes half an hour for me to pull out all the information I need from her to book the flights. When we’re done and hanging up, someone knocks on the door.
I rush over to it and fling it open. Carson stands there holding a bag and frowning.
“He okay?”
“Nope,” I say, my voice quivering.
He gives me a sad smile. “He will be.”
“I hope so.”
“I know it.”
Camilo groans from the kitchen.
“Let’s get this man fed and we’ll go from there,” Carson says, handing me the bag of food. “Thank you for being here for him.”
I don’t know that I want to be anywhere else.
This royally sucks, especially with Camilo being an asshole, but he needs me.
My heart thunders wildly in my chest.
Nowhere else I want to be except here with him.
Chapter 24
Camilo
My head throbs so bad I can barely keep my eyes open as the funeral director, Marsha, explains different types of caskets to me. I don’t fucking care. Dad is dead. It doesn’t matter what the box looks like. They’re all expensive as hell and ridiculously overpriced. I rub at my temples and nod, half listening to what she’s saying.
Thankfully, Sheridan is here.
She handles shit I have no business dealing with in this state of mind. She was right. Yesterday, I should have brought her with me to the nursing home. I needed her support. Instead, I was all alone and fucking lost it. Dragged my ass to the nearest bar and drank away my sorrows until I was shitfaced. It’s a miracle I managed to walk home and not pass out on the sidewalk.
Fuck, I’m a mess.
Every time I think about Dad dying alone while I was off fucking the girl of my dreams in another country, my stomach sours. I barely touched breakfast this morning. I’m in dire need of food before I start dry heaving.
Sheridan begins talking faster and in firm tones. She hands Marsha a black card and then Marsha leaves.
“You okay?” Sheridan asks. “You look like you’re about to puke.”
I shrug, squeezing my eyes shut. I’m not sure how much time passes, but I hear the sound of a soda being opened. Sheridan hands me a cold Sprite.
“Drink this. We’re almost done and then we’ll grab some food. You need to eat.”
My eyes lift as I chug down the soda. She looks every bit the boardroom princess in her fancy clothes and perfect hair. Gorgeous and intense. All business. Fuck, she’s so beautiful.
“I’m tired,” I mutter. “So fucking tired.”
“I know,” she says, her voice growing soft. “Let’s finish up, feed you, and then we’ll go home.”
Home.
The word sounds good on her tongue.
Marsha comes back and Sheridan signs a bunch of papers. Marsha collects paperwork and puts it all in a green folder before handing it to Sheridan. We leave the funeral home and head toward my Tahoe that we retrieved earlier from the bar. Like last time, Sheridan ushers me to the passenger side and climbs her tiny self into the big vehicle. If I wasn’t so fucking despondent, I’d find amusement in the way she drives the Tahoe so easily. Surely it’s a far cry from her Jaguar.
As the vehicle moves, I close my eyes, trying desperately not to puke. We eventually end up at a restaurant near my condo. A hole-in-the-wall burger joint. I can’t help but smile at Sheridan, knowing this place is a far cry from what she’s used to.
When she catches me smiling, the hardness in her features melts away and she grins back. “Who knew burgers would cheer you up so much?”
I lean across the console, slide my hand into her silky hair, and pull her to me for a kiss. She tastes like peppermint from the candy Marsha offered us earlier. I kiss her deeply, wishing I could get lost in her, forgetting all the pain I’m drowning in at the moment.
“You cheer me up,” I whisper against her plump lips. “I couldn’t do this without you.”
“You don’t have to.”
I can’t do this.
Fuck.
Pain threatens to rip me in half. I thought I was doing okay. Things with Sher and I were calm the past few days. I stayed away from the booze and let her take care of me. But as each day drew nearer to the funeral, I could feel myself unraveling.
I’m frayed beyond repair at this point.
I could use a fucking drink.
While we wait to head over to the funeral home, I watch Mamá from my spot on the couch. She’s in the kitchen speaking lowly with Sheridan. Since when did they get so fucking chummy?