Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 96586 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96586 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Ry basketball tosses the dirty wipes into the nearest trashcan. “You’re clearly a direct descendent of a Sesame Street character.”
Laughter from Shelby swatting my hand away as I pretend to steal her nose turns into laughter directed at her uncle. “What?!”
“It’s never been that easy to get her clean. Effing ever.” He makes a monster like paw and sends it sailing toward her. “So, clearly, you must be related to one of them or maybe a Muppet because those are the only things that I know that can keep my niece that happy and that distracted that long.”
Pretending to save her from the “monster hand” of Ry causes her to giggle louder. “Or…maybe I’ve just been doing this long enough to know more tricks of the trade than you.”
“Maybe I wanna learn some tricks of the trade too.”
During her wiggles, Shelby notices one of her toys on the coffee table and begins to whine for it. “You want a job at my school?”
“I want the job as a father to our children.”
His declaration is short-lived courtesy of Noah and Shelly entering the room with dessert items. “Our sincerest apologies, that took so long. Someone had a phone call he had to answer.”
Ry looks displeased while handing his niece the baby guitar it’s clear she wants. “Clio again?”
“Liz.” Our stares shift to where he’s putting out coasters for cups. “She wanted to know how Dad was doing.”
My face twitches in curiosity; however, Noah speaks again before I ask for details.
“Do you wanna know?” Noah directs his question at his brother once he’s settled on the slightly curved couch across from us. “Do you want to know how he or Mom or even Liz is doing?”
“No.” Ry instantly directs his attention back to his niece. “Come here, bumble bee. Let Uncle Ryder teach you how to become the next Eddie Van Halen.”
Shelly settles beside her husband on a teasing scold, “Everyone knows Jimi Hendrix was a much superior guitarist.”
My boyfriend shoots her a mirth-filled glare. “You really wanna do this? You really want me to embarrass you in front of your husband and future sister-in-law?”
Shelly snickers, grabs some strange looking cookie from the plate she brought in, and shrugs. “Bring it on, Ryder.”
Noah releases an exasperated sigh, “How about instead of comparing guitar heroes-”
“That’s a video game, bumble bee,” Ry states, looking down at Shelby who is pounding on the toy. “It’s gonna be ancient by the time you’re ready to play video games.”
His brother’s calm demeanor begins to shift. “Ryder.”
“I said no, Noah.” He doesn’t bother making eye contact. “Let the ish go.”
“Is um…is something wrong with your father?” I innocently ask.
My attempt to bridge the gap backfires.
“You haven’t even told her?!” Noah barks as he leans forward. “Are you fucking kidding me with that shit?”
“Language,” Shelly quietly does the chastising I usually do.
“What happened to this being my hill to fucking die on?”
“Tiny ears, tiny words,” I swiftly hiss his direction.
“Sorry, bumble bee,” my boyfriend softly states to his niece that seems to be playing a song only she understands. “Uncle Ryder will do better.”
“How about he is actually dying so stop being such a selfish little shit and have some sympathy!” Noah roars from the other side of the table.
“Dying?!” Shock, disappointment, outrage, and displeasure all slam into my chest at once. “Your dad is dying, Ry?!”
He reluctantly meets my gaze yet doesn’t reply.
“You didn’t think to tell me that?!”
Still nothing.
“You didn’t think that might be an important thing to share with the woman you love?!”
“No.”
More anger surges up my spine. “No?!”
“No, because it wasn’t important to me and still isn’t important to me; therefore, it isn’t effing important to you.”
There’s barely time for my mouth to crack open.
“Building a relationship with Noah, Shelly, and Shelby matters. Rebuilding something better between us matters. I don’t care that my mother is dating someone our age who owns a lucrative online subscription box service for dogs. I don’t care that my sister is past the honeymoon phase of being married to her French husband who owns a failing French café in effing Kansas. And I damn sure don’t care about the cold-blooded bastard who has ball cancer and an unclear conscience he’d like to scrub clean. I only listen to any of that ish because my big brother – that I do give an eff about – brings it up during dinner.”
“It’s spread to his liver, Ryder,” Noah answers, gathering my gaze but not his brother’s. “And they’re worried the cancerous cells are going to continue to spread until he’s basically just the disease with legs.”
“Not my problem.”
“He’s not responding to the medications or chemo.”
“Even less my problem.”
“Ry,” I unhappily huff from beside him.
Whether it’s my tone or Shelby’s boredom that upsets her is unclear. One second she’s smiling, and the next she’s rubbing her eyes on a whimper.