Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
He almost put the car in reverse and drove away…but fuck that. There was no chance he could spend the next few days in Last Chance and not run into anyone he knew anyway, so Van got out of the car and went inside.
They’d remodeled since he was a kid. Everything still had the soft, rose-pink accents, but the tables were newer and there was now a bar along the front.
“Just one?” the hostess asked. She was young, it was probably her first job. They’d always been good about that at Lucky Rose.
“Yep. Just one.”
“Do you want to sit at the bar?”
“I’d rather a table, if you don’t mind.”
She nodded and led Van to a small, two-person table that sat directly across from the bar. He ordered a coffee and before she even had the chance to return with it, the bell over the door sounded.
The second he looked up, he was eye-to-eye with his former best friend.
“Max!” Jonathan grinned as he walked over. He wore slacks and a white button-up, without a tie.
“Hey, man. How’s it going?” Van pushed to his feet as Jonathan pulled him into a hug. It was slightly awkward, standing there with Jonathan again. The other man reminded him of the person he used to try to be, the one his father tried to force him to be. Acid burned through his gut at the thought.
“Good. Great. I can’t believe it’s been twelve years. Christ, your mom didn’t even know how to get a hold of you at first.”
Van just nodded because he wasn’t going to go there with Jonathan. He’d done what he’d done for a reason. “I’m here now,” Van replied as the waitress approached with his coffee.
“Would you like one too, Jonathan?” she asked. He looked at Van as if to ask if it was okay. Van gave a nod and they both sat down.
“Are you ready for your order?”
“I’ll take an egg white omelet, light cheese, and turkey sausage,” Jonathan replied. The waitress looked at Van next.
He sure as shit wasn’t eating like Jonathan. “I’ll take a grasshopper milkshake and a breakfast burrito.”
He handed the menu to her and Jonathan chuckled.
“You always used to try and eat like shit.”
But he hadn’t gotten away with it most of the time. Not if it was baseball or football season, when his dad thought he needed to be in the best shape.
They spoke for a couple minutes and Van learned Jonathan’s wife was a real estate agent—the best one in Last Chance—and that he was an attorney. That part Van had known. There was no way Jonathan couldn’t be. It’s what his father was and what Jonathan wanted, as well.
They had three girls but Jonathan wanted to try again because damn it, he wanted his son.
Van bit back a groan at that.
He wondered if Jonathan would ask what he did. How he would respond when Van told him he created homoerotic art. Because he wouldn’t skirt around what he did or who he was.
Jonathan apparently wasn’t interested though because he went straight into, “My deepest condolences on your dad. He was a good man.”
Van’s molars ground together. It wasn’t that he was glad his father was dead. He didn’t wish that on anyone, but he didn’t need condolences. And his father hadn’t been a good man.
“I know it was important to your mom that you come back. You’re all she has and she wants a relationship with you.”
Did she? She hadn’t said it that way to Van. But there was hope there, living inside him. Hope that they could work on their relationship. That without his father there, she could love him the way he was, even though she’d never protected him. “I hope we’re able to work through some things,” Van replied, even though Jonathan wouldn’t know what those things were.
The bell over the door rang again but Van didn’t turn to look.
“Hey, Shane! How’s it going?” a voice popped up.
“Saw that Camaro outside your shop!” someone else said and Van froze. Couldn’t move.
Christ, was it Shane Wallace? The Shane Wallace he’d tormented, much like his own father had tormented him? The quiet, scrawny kid who kept to himself?
Van’s gut cramped up at the thought of how they’d treated Shane.
“Hey, man. How’s it going? Just picking up some muffins for the shop.”
The voice was rough, deep. Nothing like the voice of the Shane he remembered. Van couldn’t stop himself from looking back anymore and…damn, Shane Wallace had grown up—cut muscles, tousled, dark hair, and an easy smile that would knock anyone on their ass. A smile that had never been that effortless, that settled, when they’d been kids.
Jonathan saw him staring. “He’s found his way, all right, I guess. Made a name for himself. Still takes care of his mama. We’re still not too fond of each other, if you know what I mean.” Jonathan chuckled but Van wasn’t sure what was so funny. That they’d been horrible to Shane, so he and Shane still had their issues?