Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 33246 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 166(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33246 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 166(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
“No, not at all. I love you, son.” She moves away, but Dad doesn’t let her sit in her own seat, bringing her into his lap instead. This is how I was raised, the two of them always being loving and affectionate with one another. In the kitchen, in the living room, saying hello, saying I love you. Their actions and words to one another did and still do speak volumes.
“Love you, Mom. You think Gran would be upset if I said hello before heading to the station?” Whereas Mom and Dad have a pretty set schedule, Gran is completely different, on her own schedule and does her own thing. When my parents built the addition, they made it so it had a living room, bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen. The only thing it’s missing is a laundry area for a washer and dryer.
“I think you’d get a loaf of bread thrown at you if you tried to sneak out of the house without at least peeking your head through the door. You know how she sleeps.”
“With one eye open.” I stand up and down the rest of the contents of my black coffee. One of these days, all the caffeine is going to catch up with me and do the exact opposite of what I need it to do, and that’s keep me awake.
“I’ll call you later, let you know how things are going,” Dad states. I say my goodbyes before heading inside. I’ve got my head down, watching where I’m walking, deep in thought about any- and everything—work, life, Kennedy. Fucking hell, Kennedy Fontaine is going to be the death of me. She’s with me every damn day and at every damn turn. There’s no getting away, and even if I wanted to, I damn sure wouldn’t.
“It must be a woman who has you all tangled up. You didn’t even hear me call your name,” Gran says. I lift my head, and my lips tilt up in a grin. She’s feisty this morning.
“Sure is. How ya doing, pretty lady?” I ask, trying to keep things as normal as possible. Gramps used to call her lady, and now Dad and I will use the nickname here and there.
“Does that pretty woman go by the name of Kennedy Fontaine?” I smile at her and nod my head slightly for an answer. “Yeah, I figured as much, and I can’t complain. Come give me a hug, Trent Hawthorne. I’m too old and too tired to move from my place.” Gran is sitting on the couch, a blanket placed on her lap, a cup of hot tea on the side table, and her cane perched near her. A new accessory of sorts Dad mentioned she started needing in the past few weeks.
“You don’t look a day over eighty.” I shoot her a wink before doing what she asked. I’d have done it anyways, but her giving me hell means she’s in good spirits.
“Psshhh, I don’t look a day over sixty. Get it right, grandson.” I take a seat next to her, settling in close while trying not to jostle her too much. Gran drops her head to my shoulder, and I put my arm around her.
“Damn straight,” I agree.
“I love you, grandson of mine.” There’s some emotion in her voice, but for the most part, she’s being strong, whether it’s for me of for her, I’ll never know, and I won’t ask. Right now, I’m going to bask in this moment that I’ve got with my last living grandparent and cherish what I have.
“I love you, Gran. A whole hell of a lot.” She pats my chest with her hand but doesn’t move from her spot, and neither do I.
5
KENNEDY
“It’s rowdy out there tonight. Be careful,” Starr says after she gets off the stage. I’m waiting to go up for my first set. Nerves have settled in more than normal. There’s a buzzing in the air, it’s busier than normal, and then there’s the owner, who’s back today, Tommy. It’s turning Mitch into a grade-A asshole. The damn man has me ready to say fuck it and walk the hell out. The only reason I’m not is I’ve already paid for my spot and am here. Tonight, though, this is going to be the end. I’m done. I’ll ask to buy my mom’s car or deal with a car payment and try to work a night or two a week at a bar instead of at a glorified titty bar. The drama the manager creates, stirring the pot between dancers, bartenders, and waitresses, is the equivalent of being in high school. A lot of us can see through Mitch’s bullshit, but there are those rare few who thrive off drama and like the attention.
“Great. Worse than last night?” I ask. The extra money isn’t enough. Mitch being a certified douchebag helped push me to the decision of calling it quits. A couple more hours gave me a couple thousand dollars. It also meant I had to be on high alert, and I’d rather not deal with that again.