Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 107488 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107488 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
He was pretty sure she was drunk by that point. But drunk or not, she wasn’t far off.
Staring at the house now, stuck in the driver’s seat, dread was swallowing him whole. He wasn’t sure if he could deal with going back inside, seeing his disapproving mother and his dying father. But he couldn’t assess his father’s health and how long he might have left without doing so.
Plus, he wanted to give the dying man a memory to take to his grave. Rev’s face watching karma do its job.
This morning, only one vehicle was parked in the driveway, so he doubted that Pastor Thomas or Matthew was around. At least, not yet.
Out of all of them, Rev could probably stomach dealing with Matthew. Though, he couldn’t stomach how submissive his uncle’s wife seemed to be. Submissive women were a big turn-off for Rev. He couldn’t imagine fucking a woman who didn’t have any fire inside her.
Like Reilly did.
Or hell, any of the Fury women. Once Red had broken free of her trance-like state and her true personality had been exposed, she wasn’t nearly as quiet as they all originally thought. It only took a bit for the cracks in her shell to begin to seal themselves up and for her to become close to whole again.
In truth, she had to be a strong woman to deal with Sig and his easily-ignited temper.
He could only imagine that fucking Matthew’s wife was like fucking a half-deflated blow-up doll. Without lube.
No, a good fuck involved fast and furious skin-slapping, sweat dripping, hair pulling, biting, scratching and plenty of loud vocal encouragement. If a woman didn’t make him struggle to keep from popping a nut within a minute or two, then he had no interest in fucking her a second time.
He needed to stop thinking those kind of thoughts while sitting in front of his parents’ house. Now was not the right time to get a damn boner. He couldn’t put off going inside much longer and he’d prefer to do that erection free.
Especially since the last time his mother saw him with one was when Michael was in Sarah’s bed all those years ago. A natural response from him turned into a very unnatural, unforgiving response from her. One he’d never forget.
That was also the day he began plotting his escape.
“Fuck it,” he muttered and climbed out of the truck. He needed to suck it up and get this over with, then head back to the motel to check on Reilly.
He strode to the front door and, when he tried the knob, found it locked. Cupping his hands around the sides of his face, he pressed it to one of the narrow windows alongside the door. Like earlier, he neither saw or heard movement inside.
His parents used to be early risers. He couldn’t imagine they weren’t up yet since it was now late morning. Maybe his mother was in the kitchen at the back of the house doing her “wifely duties.”
He could knock, but…
Fuck it.
He jogged down the porch steps and rounded the house to the backyard.
And immediately froze in his tracks.
Nothing had changed. Not a damn thing.
It was just how he remembered it in the days before he rushed out the back door for the last time and into the night.
Just how he remembered it all those times his father dragged him out into the backyard to punish him for whatever wrongdoing Michael did that day. Whatever rule he broke. Whatever transgression he committed.
In an attempt to “cleanse” Michael of his sins.
Bed sheets hanging from the clothesline fluttered in the morning spring breeze. But it wasn’t hearing the snap of the damp cotton in that gentle wind that made his heart pound in his throat.
It was the white wood posts buried into the ground with the cotton rope tightly stretched between them.
The eyebolt was still there. Toward the top of one of the posts. It was now rusty from either time or lack of use. Or both.
He turned slowly and spotted the witch-hazel shrub. Of course, it was now overgrown since no one had to cut any of the branches any longer. Or at least, not as often.
With his chest tight and his jaw set, his vision narrowed to the point of only a pin prick as he stared at that fucking bush. His memories started to rush in and take him back.
To a place he didn’t want to go. To a time he didn’t want to revisit.
This was why he shouldn’t have come home. To avoid reliving all that he left behind. He should’ve known coming back would be like picking off the scab of his childhood and making it bleed all over again.
He had so many memories of this backyard. Not one of them good. Not of him playing catch or having fun by running through sprinklers. Not of playing hide-and-seek or being pushed high into the sky on a swing.