Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 148220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 741(@200wpm)___ 593(@250wpm)___ 494(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 741(@200wpm)___ 593(@250wpm)___ 494(@300wpm)
“No. After my grandpa… I sold the farm. Because I love working with animals but working a farm wasn’t what I wanted. So I put some of the furniture and other stuff that I wanted to keep in here, but knew we wouldn’t be using the bikes. Hadn’t used them for a while, really. But I wish now that I had more of Matt’s things.” Those emerald eyes fill up again as she looks around the storage unit. “We got a really good sell price on the property. So there I was, with so much money and so many options. But Matt had already been under for a few years, and although I didn’t know exactly what he was doing, I knew that I couldn’t just move to where he was. So I thought that I’d go back to school, get that full veterinary degree. Or maybe travel for a year first. But I wanted to see Matt before making any big decisions. So I went to Vegas and…”
Her life went to shit. But there’s no need to say that.
She pulls out the little blue passport booklet. Holds it in her hands for a long minute before looking up at me, eyes shimmering with tears. “When we stop for the night, can we go out and get really, really, really drunk?”
“Yeah, angel.” I might not be able to help her with everything. But this is one thing I have plenty of experience with. “We’ll get absolutely shit-faced together.”
She smiles and sniffles. “Good. How far?”
“About four more hours.”
Barely any time at all.
32
Stone
Reno’s about halfway to Las Vegas, and it ain’t hard to find a motel that’ll take cash within stumbling distance of a bar. Both places are real questionable, so I fit right in. Maxine, not so much. But I’m pretty sure she doesn’t give a fuck.
My girl gets plenty of looks when we go in. Then the people looking at her take a gander at me and return to minding their own business. A jukebox is playing some Kenny Loggins shit and no one’s complaining, which tells me all I need to know about the owner.
She doesn’t give a fuck, either.
I figure she’s the one up at the bar. About sixty, brown hair going gray, an expression like rusty nails. I’d bet my right nut her name is Barb or Marge. She eyes Maxine, then me, then her lips quirk a bit when Maxine says, “Can I get a shot of tequila, please?”
Shit, that’s cute.
“Hold up, angel. We’ve got to do this right.” I scan the bottles. “What did your brother like to drink when it was special?”
“Um… Maker’s Mark.”
Can’t argue with that. “Two shots of the whisky,” I say to Barb. “And two more of that Don Julio Añejo.”
Barb pours the tequila first. I slide one shot glass over to Maxine and lift the other.
“This one is for Crash, yeah?” I tell her, my throat going all fucking tight. Because he deserved a hell of a lot better. But this is what we’ve got.
Her gaze softens and she clinks her shot to mine. “For Crash.”
And it burns so damn good. She throws hers back, eyes going real bright as she coughs.
I push the whisky in front of her. “You shooting this or sipping?”
“Shooting. Then sipping more.”
Sounds good. “Then here’s to Matt.”
This time she can’t repeat it. Only nods and clinks before tossing it down. Those tears aren’t all from the alcohol now.
“All right, then,” I tell her gently. “You go and grab that booth in the back corner there, and I’ll bring us something to sip on.”
I watch her as she goes. Those two shots couldn’t have hit her yet. Still, this is my only purpose tonight. Watching over her.
Barb’s measuring me up with beady eyes. No need to guess why. I toss down a few bills to cover the shots—then add a few more.
“We’re going to do a lot of damage to that bottle of whisky,” I tell her, leaning in. “And you’re probably already thinking that she’s a lightweight and that you’ll have to cut her off after this drink. You won’t, though.”
She purses her lips. “Is that right?”
“It is. Because that girl just found out her brother was killed in the line of duty. And the only thing she asked me for was to get drunk off her ass. So I’m going to help her do that.” I lay a hundred-dollar bill on top of the cash pile. “You’re going to let me help her, so that she doesn’t ever think her only option is heading home with a bottle. Instead, she’ll know the best option is going out with someone who’ll look out for her.”
“Fair enough,” Barb says, sweeping up the money. “What’s your sipping drink?”
“I’m guessing an old fashioned for her. Maybe with a little extra sugar and water. Straight up for me.”