Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
I pulled up my cousin’s contact and pushed CALL.
“Why the hell are you calling so late?” Kate asked, her voice scratchy.
“Did I wake you up?”
“No,” she groaned. “I was laying on the couch watching TV. Shane’s gone this week doing training. What’s up?”
“She’s moving,” I blurted. Yeah, so I guess I couldn’t just let it go. “To Sacramento. And she’s doing it by herself.”
“Wait, who?” Kate asked in confusion.
“Morgan.”
“Morgan, Henry’s baby-mama?”
“Yeah. Don’t call her that, it’s demeaning or something.”
“It’s not demeaning,” she scoffed. “But okay. I’ll refer to her as Etta’s mother from now on.”
“Good.” Hearing Morgan referred to as Henry’s anything made me want to punch something.
“Trev, I love you, but I still have no idea why you’re calling me at midnight.”
“She’s moving all her stuff and the baby from Anaheim to Sacramento all by herself,” I explained.
“And?” she still sounded confused, but after a few seconds she made a noise of understanding. “Having a hard time not butting in?” she asked in amusement.
“She’s driving a fucking moving truck tomorrow. With a two-year-old.”
“Is she a bad driver?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Is she nervous?”
“Not at all. Overconfident, if anything,” I grumbled as I made my way through the house, turning off lights and opening windows to let in the cool night air. “She can even change a tire.”
“That’s good to know,” Kate mumbled. “So can I.”
“It’s not like you’ve ever needed to,” I replied.
“But I could if I did,” she argued. “Trev, it sounds like you’re getting all worked up about nothing. What’s your deal?”
“Nothing,” I answered defensively, “I just don’t like that she’s doing it by herself. None of you would have to do it by yourself. The boys would step in to help.”
“One of us…” her voice trailed off. “Trev, does she want our help? Because if she does, we can drive up there tomorrow after Shane gets home and help her.”
“No. She’s leaving in the morning anyway.” I sighed. “She says she doesn’t need any help.”
“Then I don’t see the issue.” There were a bunch of muffled sounds, like she was moving, then her voice came through clearer. “Are we worrying about Morgan because she’s Henry’s—Etta’s mother,” she said, switching how she referred to Morgan midsentence. “Or are we worrying because you’ve got some unresolved something going on with her that you’re not telling us about?”
“There’s no unresolved anything,” I shot back.
“Really? Because you’ve been acting weird since you got home, and you’re awfully protective of a woman that we’ve had minimal contact with.”
“And on that note, I’m done.”
“Don’t get defensive, you ass,” Kate snapped. “I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m just trying to figure out what the fuck is going on.”
“Nothing, all right?” I replied, anxious to get off the phone. “She’s a nice woman, and she’s the mother of our niece. She’s family.”
“Okay,” Kate said dubiously.
“I don’t know why I called you,” I mumbled as I got ready for bed.
“Because you wanted to talk shit out,” Kate replied. “You feel any better?”
“No.”
She laughed. “Well, call me in the morning and we can talk it over some more. I need to get some sleep.”
“Fine. Love you.”
“Love you, too, Trev.”
She hung up and I tossed my phone onto the bed in frustration.
Jesus, I was a basket case. I needed to get my shit together and nip whatever shit I was feeling for Morgan in the bud. She was a non-issue. Etta was who I needed to be concerned with, not her mother. I couldn’t even list all the ways my attraction to Morgan was fucked up. It was something I needed to get a handle on fast.
I told myself all of this as I stripped down and got into bed, but as I closed my eyes, I still had a nasty feeling in my gut about Morgan driving that moving truck on the interstate all day.
Chapter 8
Morgan
I’ll call you when we get there,” I told Carmen, hugging her one last time.
The truck was loaded and Etta was strapped into her car seat. All I had left to do was go. It was harder than I thought it would be.
We hadn’t made a ton of friends in Anaheim—we’d only been there a few months—but it already felt like home. Now we had to move yet again. It sucked. When we’d left San Diego, I’d mistakenly thought I was making the right decision. Little did I know that change would eventually mean I’d be headed back to Sacramento to live with my dad.
I liked my dad. I loved him, of course, but I liked him, too. He was a good guy. Funny, mellow, took everything as it came and didn’t worry much about the future. He was a good friend to have, plain and simple, but he was a pain in the ass as a roommate. The guy never cleaned up after himself, rarely grocery shopped, and left greasy motorcycle parts all over the house. Bringing a two-year-old to live with him sounded like torture. Except I knew he’d try his best. He loved us and he doted on Etta, and if there was any way he could make our lives easier, he’d do it. He’d spoiled me and my sister rotten when he’d finally gotten us back. We’d rarely had money for extra stuff, but he’d given us whatever he could, whenever he could.