Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 45045 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 225(@200wpm)___ 180(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45045 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 225(@200wpm)___ 180(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
I didn’t plan on driving to Gus’s house.
Okay, so I’d planned to go there originally, but only so I could make him a cash offer. Given what I’d just heard at the bar, that seemed fairly pointless.
Not to mention wrong.
Eli had literally done time for Gus. I’d probably have to shank the old man myself if he backed out. Not that I thought Eli was a great guy or something, but he was better than some. Most, really.
If you love him so much, why don’t you marry him?
Good God. Now my own subconscious was making fun of me. If I had to put up with a voice in my head telling me what to do, at the very least, it should be male, with a sexy Irish accent… Maybe Jonathan Rhys Meyers, although I’d settle for Colin Farrell if I had to.
Thankfully, the gravel country road leading to Gus’s house was right ahead. Less than five minutes later, I’d parked my car and made my way around the back of the old farmhouse, to the kitchen door, finding it open.
This wasn’t a surprise because it’d never been locked the entire time I’d known Gus. Same with the barn, and the shop—something that had come up during Eli’s appeal. Gus had claimed that not only did he leave his place open, but that he didn’t have the keys to lock it even if he wanted to.
Anyone could’ve taken his pickup that night.
That’s what he’d told me, at least. And I’d believed him.
Stepping into the narrow galley kitchen brought back a thousand memories. Me and Mom, baking cookies. Me and Gus, microwaving marshmallow Peeps. There were even memories of Eli and me. Most of them involved chasing each other with knives.
“How the hell did we never get seriously injured?” I said, feeling almost wistful.
This was crazy. As an adult, I could see that my idealized fantasy had never existed. Yet for some reason, I was still sad about losing it.
And I’d lost another huge chunk of it today, in Gus.
Opening the fridge, I found a can of Dr. Pepper, which made me smile. Gus was an idiot who’d cheated on my mom and sent Eli to prison in his place. Yet for some reason, he always had Dr. Pepper waiting in the fridge.
How could he remember to buy me pop, yet conveniently forget all about my mom whenever he’d fucked someone else?
Eli wouldn’t do that. Or would he? No, he wouldn’t. He was better than that.
Taking a large plastic tumbler out of the cupboard, I filled it with ice from the little plastic trays Gus still used because he didn’t trust ice makers. He had one at the bar, of course. Said that’s how he knew they couldn’t be trusted, which had always amused me.
I refilled the ice trays with fresh water, then grabbed my pop and the cup before passing into the dining room. At least, that’s what my mom had always called it. In reality, there was just one big room across the front of the house, divided into two sections—one for eating, one for watching TV. For years, any time I came to visit, Eli would have to sleep out in the “living room.”
Walking over to the sideboard, I opened one of the doors and pulled out a bottle of vodka. I was old enough now that I didn’t have to worry about how full it was. I still enjoyed the occasional drink, but I wasn’t much of a partier anymore.
Not after Eli had gotten arrested.
A part of me had always wondered if he’d refused to let me talk to the cops because I’d been drinking that night. They might not have trusted a drunk girl with club connections.
I’d spent years wondering what if. Whenever I’d asked Eli about it, he’d always changed the subject.
Now, I knew the truth. None of it had anything to do with me.
Popping the tab on the Dr. Pepper, I filled the tumbler about halfway full, then topped it off generously with the vodka. Then I turned to face the room, raising the glass high for a toast.
“To the snakes!”
“What the fuck is it about snakes that turns you on so much?” asked Eli, who seemed to appear out of nowhere. “If it’s a fetish thing, I’d prefer that you keep it out of the bar.”
“Holy shit!” I yelled, so startled that I dropped the cup, sending pop and vodka splashing across the scratched wooden floor.
“Funny how you can carry entire trays of drinks over your head, but that one plastic cup is just too hard for you to handle when you’re here.”
“It’s warped from the dishwasher. Kind of like you,” I snapped, then realized what a rude thing that was to say. Apparently, I’d told myself that he was the enemy for so long that I’d programmed my body to keep up the hate, even when I wasn’t feeling it.