Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 80176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
I was amazed. “I’m not trying to hurt your feelings here, but how the hell did he even remember you?”
Evander grinned. “Told you. We have a bond that transcends time and shit. I could’ve been gone for the rest of his life, coming back when he was on his deathbed, and he’d still remember me.”
I couldn’t stop the smile from forming on my face.
“That’s great news,” I whispered, excited to see his face so animated.
That smile, however, died.
“All in all, that bitch ain’t gonna do anything about her dog. What I would suggest for now is the fence. What I would suggest for later is thinking about suing the bitch for damages and loss of income.”
My eyes widened.
“I can do that?” I asked in surprise.
He nodded. “You sure the fuck can.”
Chapter 8
At first I cared, but then I was like, ‘Nah, fuck you.’
-Text from Kennedy to Evander
Kennedy
“We need nails.”
We needed nails? Okay.
I didn’t even ask, I just got into his truck with him.
Though, I likely would have stayed if he hadn’t held the passenger side door of his truck open expectantly.
So there I was, in the middle of Lowe’s, walking behind him as he made his way, swiftly and efficiently, to the hardware department where the specific kind of nails he needed were kept.
I’d been in Lowe’s a hundred million times, at least, and I still didn’t know my way around.
Maybe it was a male thing to instinctively know where he’s going.
That, or maybe he’d just bought nails and knew where to find them.
Whatever the reason for his powers of nail location, I wasn’t complaining.
What I did complain about, however, was the fact that he wanted to pay.
“No,” I said sternly, stamping my foot. “No, no, no, no, no.”
He ignored me and handed the lady thirty dollars in cash.
“Phone number?”
He shook his head.
“Don’t got one.”
The checker raised her brows. “You don’t have one?”
He shook his head.
“You can have mine,” I said, rattling off the digits. “Thank you.”
She smiled at me, her eyes going up to the man at my side, and then shook her head.
Her eyes, I could tell, were full of fear.
And she wasn’t so sure what to think about the man at my side.
He was big, yes.
He was dark, yes.
He had a beard, yes.
He had tattoos, yes.
He was scowling, yes.
Okay, he was scary.
But not that scary.
Not the way she was staring at him, anyway.
He grunted something when she handed him the receipt, and then her eyes went wide when he grabbed my elbow and pulled me along.
I went with him, not complaining in the least that he was touching me.
In fact, I quite like that he was touching me. Nobody ever touched me. Not my sister or my father.
I’d had one boyfriend in all of my life, and that one only lasted all of twenty seconds because he couldn’t handle my life.
Then again, not many people could handle my life.
When I was fifteen, my older sister got cancer. When I was sixteen, she died. When I was seventeen, my mom got cancer. She battled it for the last few horrible years of her life before she died, too.
I spent years dealing with cancer, and I still hadn’t recovered, not even years later.
Now, I was dealing with it again. Although Trixie had made it clear that she didn’t want, nor need, my help at this point.
She wanted to spend as much time with her family as she could, and that didn’t include me. Honestly, that hurt.
It hurt bad.
The only thing she was willing to allow me to do was to take my nephew to baseball practice twice a week.
And when I brought him home, Darren met me at the door.
It was obvious that he didn’t want me to come in, so I hadn’t.
My life sucked.
It really did.
Except, the big guy at my side was making it better, even if he wasn’t very cheery while doing it.
We’d just exited the store when he stopped and stared at something in front of him.
“What is it?” I asked.
He gestured to something in front of him.
It was a truck. A big one that looked like it was lifted up so high that I’d have to take a running leap to get into it.
It had a light bar across the top, and I swear to God that it looked like the truck had a unibrow.
Then I noticed all the lights.
“Whose truck is that?” I asked, taking in the multiple bars that resembled red and blue emergency lights on the bumpers.
“According to my paperwork,” he pulled out his phone and pulled up a screen in an app that I didn’t recognize. “It’s Officer Dale Rogers’ truck. He’s behind not one, not four, but six car payments.”
I blinked.
“You’re kidding.”
He shook his head.
“And that means…” I left it hanging, wondering if he’d answer me.
“That means we’re picking it up and taking it in,” he grinned.