Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 88992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
And I do hate him. I hate everything that rich, cocky motherfucker has ever said or done. From the moment we met at a fight camp and he said some offhanded, derogatory comment about my fight gear—that I wasn’t a concern because I’d be sent packing with my cheap shit—I’ve loathed him. He thinks he’s better than everyone, and that his pedigree should put him at the top just because.
Fuck that.
Maybe it’s a chip on my shoulder from always being the poor kid with the addict dad in the papers with a new mugshot, or maybe I’m just still pissed that in the fifth grade, I had a black eye and a kid in my class said I was the walking resemblance of my shirt since it had a hole in the hem. Either way, I’ve gotten more pleasure from beating Drew in the ring, getting signed to the AFLC before him, and getting a title shot first than I have from nearly anything in my life.
Now, he’s Audrey’s brother. Not that it really matters when we’re just fucking around. Right?
I exhale, blowing a bubble but popping it quietly inside my mouth.
Still, I told her. I told Audrey there was bad blood there and let her decide whether she wanted to pursue anything with me. And maybe I shouldn’t have put her in the position of intervening on my behalf, but I did, and she accepted. She’s clearly intelligent and capable of making her own decisions, but I’m still slightly weird about it.
Maybe I should revisit this conversation one final time before we get to the rental.
The choir begins to sing again, and that’s my cue. I lean over to my mother, who’s awaiting my farewell.
“I’m gonna go,” I whisper to the first notes of Standing on the Promises. “I’m going out of town for a few days with a friend, so I’ll see you when I get back.”
She kisses my cheek. “With Jasper?”
“Nope.” I pull away, smirking. “Call him if you need anything.”
Mom pats my knee again and then settles in to join the chorus. I take a quick look around me before slipping as discretely as I can to the back of the church. My steps quicken as I reach the lobby. Just a few more seconds …
“Brooks! Where are you going?” Violet Crowder calls from a side room. “You’re not leaving before Sunday School again, are you?”
“Sorry, Violet. I’ll see you next week.”
“Brooks …”
My palms hit the door and I push, shoving it open in one fast motion. Then I jog across the parking lot before Violet Crowder can catch me. For an old woman with a cane, she’s damn fast.
I hop in my truck, laughing to myself as I start the engine.
“Gotta get home, throw some shit in a bag, and get Otis boy to Uncle Jasper’s,” I say, backing out. “Then let’s get this party started.”
I smile all the way home.
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
Audrey
“You must be Audrey,” a woman I assume is Cathy says from the front porch of Hartley’s house. She has a red and white-checkered apron fastened around her round belly and a broom in her hand. A pin on her shirt reads “Domestic Supervisor.” “Hartley said you’d be up this way, but I never dreamed you would’ve walked. Did you come from Gray’s?”
I nod, taking the stairs onto the porch. “Yeah. It’s a beautiful morning and it only took about twenty minutes. So, I figured, why not?”
“Whatever floats your boat.” She shrugs, smiling at me with the prettiest brown eyes. “Come on inside. I have a basket ready for you.”
A basket? Really?
Hartley sent me a text about an hour ago and asked me to swing by his house this morning. He didn’t say what for specifically, and I didn’t ask. He’s been so kind to me since I arrived that if he needs a favor from me, it’s all I can do to help. But his truck isn’t here, and there was no mention of a basket. I’m not sure what’s going on.
“I’m Cathy, by the way,” she confirms, ushering me into the kitchen. “Do you want a cup of coffee?”
“Thank you, but I’m pretty much over-caffeinated at this point. That’s kind of why I walked down here. I need to burn off some of this energy.”
“That makes sense, especially if you’re going on a road trip. There are few things worse than being cooped up in a car with too much caffeine and a small bladder—which is usually my problem.”
She laughs, digging around in the refrigerator while I try to wrap my head around the fact that she knows that I’m about to take a road trip. What else does she know?
I turn away from her, taking in the kitchen and living room. It’s almost exactly what I imagined Hartley’s house to look like with built-in cabinets surrounding a large but not gaudy television, miniature rocking chairs next to a stone fireplace, and a few deer heads mounted on the wall. It’s casual and comfortable—so Hartley.