Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 88057 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88057 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
“Wait a sec. The twins got normal names, and you got Harley?”
“What you calling a normal name, Ambrose?” He glanced away from the road long enough to give me a hard look, then softened his stare with a deep laugh.
“Point taken.” I laughed too.
“Anyway, I was the surprise kid after the twins. Dad had been planning a motorcycle but instead got diapers and more bills.”
“So he got a Harley anyway. I like his thinking.”
“Yeah, you would have liked him,” Harley said it all proud and fond, making me feel privileged. “Quiet guy, but he had a great sense of humor. The twins were born on the day of some big car race, so they got race car driver names. And poor Daisy got saddled with the name of his favorite TV character at the time.”
“Your mom didn’t get a vote?” The way my own father had told it, he’d left a lot of decisions like that up to my mom, and Cressida had been the same way. I doubted her asshole ex had even had an opinion.
“Mom said it was too much fun seeing what he suggested.” Harley smiled fondly. “Her side of the family was all Mary this and Mary that and about eight Johns in a single generation. Guess she liked the novelty of Dad’s picks.”
“Fun. I got to name Hercules all on my own, but I must have tried about twenty names before this one stuck.”
“Well, he kind of is a superhero.” Harley said it like that was a perfectly reasonable assertion, and his willingness to see my not-even-ten-pound dog as a superhero made me that much more swoony.
“Exactly.” I tried not to make my swooning too obvious, keeping my tone casual. “Anyway, the twins made you learn to back the RV up?”
“Yep. Teeny camping space. Uphill no less. Trial by fire. But I did it—whoa!”
Faster than I could even grasp what was happening, Harley swerved, then swerved again as a truck a few cars ahead of us lost two pieces of wood off its load of lumber. Other vehicles also swerved to avoid the flying debris, and Harley deftly threaded the needle between a pickup and a construction truck, coming out unscathed on the other side of the mess.
Relatively.
“Oh my God.” I tried to remember how to breathe. My hands shook and my knees didn’t fare much better. The dog yipped at the disruption to the nap he’d been taking on my lap. “That…you’ve got some reflexes.”
“That’s noth—”
“Don’t you dare say it was nothing.” I tried for stern, but my voice betrayed me with a wobble. “That was something. And I’m sure you’ve had closer calls, but your driving was still impressive.”
“It was a close call. Too close for comfort.” Harley gave me a fast pat before taking the next exit and pulling into a gas station with several fast food options nearby, along with a convenience store.
“You didn’t have to stop,” I said primly.
“Sure I did. We need gas, and I want to inspect the tires, make sure we didn’t pick something up like a nail from the wood.”
“Oh, that’s smart.”
“You needing a caffeine refill and maybe some fresh air? That’s just a bonus.” He offered me a tender smile, touching my arm, and for a heartbeat, I thought he might kiss me, but instead, he rubbed my neck, a friendly squeeze and all-too-brief massage.
“Thanks. Guess I could go for another coffee.” I took another shaky breath.
“It’s okay if you need something stronger as well. You got your meds with you?”
“How did you know I have meds?” I frowned.
“Boss, I’ve made a career out of being observant. And I’ve got enough buddies battling PTSD to know about mental health meds. Your sister said the dog is a legit therapy animal, so you also having medication was a decent guess.”
“Ah, well, I don’t take them that often—”
He cut me off with a firm hand on my knee. “You don’t gotta downplay with me. I know better than to judge. Anxiety is a bastard. I once had to talk our sniper through a panic attack in a teeny cave overseas. Big dude, six foot five, at least two-forty, and the best weapons handler I ever met. Anxiety didn’t care how much of a badass he was though. Panic attacks are scary, man.”
“They are,” I agreed. “I didn’t used to have them this bad.”
“What changed?” He turned in his seat, head tilting like he truly did want to hear my story.
“I’ve always been…high-strung, I guess you could say. Type-A creative. Driven. I dealt with low-level anxiety for years, thinking it was normal. Got a little worse after Dad died, then better, then I landed the big network deal. My biggest show yet, but on the heels of a truly sucky cancellation.”
“I remember that. Night Swimmers. The one you did for that little channel.” He nodded like he had my whole filmography memorized.