Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 82715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
“Of course. Mom’s gotta eat, right?”
Both of them looked at me expectantly, and I set my full coffee cup down on the counter with a sigh. “Okay, let’s do it.”
Everything was going smoothly as we got our jackets and shoes on, but the moment we walked outside and Mick started toward the garage with Rhett following behind him like a duckling, I had to break the spell.
“Uh, Rhett,” I called, chuckling. “Where you going, bud?”
“Pancakes!”
“Your car seat is in our car,” I pointed out, literally jerking my thumb toward our car. “You gotta ride with me.”
“Pancakes, Mama.” He looked over his shoulder at Mick.
“Your dad can ride with us if he wants,” I said, automatically calculating how long it would take for me to clean off the passenger seat. On a good day, there were always random wrappers and toys up there, but we’d been on the road for a while. It was kind of a nightmare.
“We can put his seat in my truck,” Mick said as I picked Rhett up and carried him to the car.
“That’s okay,” I called over my shoulder as I swung open Rhett’s door and set him in his seat. “Just give me a sec, and you can ride with us.”
“Let’s just take the truck,” Michael replied stubbornly.
I knew it would be news to him, but somewhere along the line, I seemed to have grown a bit of a backbone. Years ago, I would’ve done whatever he wanted. Go to the river even though I was on my period and really just wanted to lie around watching movies? Sure, Michael. Lay on the hammock for an hour even though I was bored and wanted to go do something? Sure, Michael. Go to the hamburger place even though I’d really like tacos? Absolutely, Michael, burgers sound great.
Fighting with Michael was the last thing I wanted to do, but I also didn’t want to be that person anymore. After spending my entire life under the thumb of my parents, I’d spent the last few months finding out what it was like to make my own decisions and stick by them. I had no interest in going back to how I’d been before.
I wanted to drive my car. I didn’t want to go through the hassle of getting Rhett’s seat out of the back and putting it back in an hour when we got back from breakfast. It was heavy and awkward and just plain annoying.
I finished buckling Rhett in and found a mostly empty fast food bag. Leaning into the car, I used the bag to gather up all the little bits of garbage on the front floorboard, tossing toys in the back seat as I hurried.
“Jesus,” Michael’s amused voice came from right behind me. “You’re a slob.”
I shot up so fast that I bumped the back of my head on the roof of the car.
“I’m not a slob.”
“Sugar,” he murmured, glancing at me, the car, and then back at me again. “Your car’s trashed.”
I scowled, ignoring how the endearment made my stomach flip.
“Do you have any idea what it’s like to never be able to just get out of the car and run into the store, or a restaurant, or the bank, or just straight into your house after a long day?” I asked, glancing at Rhett. “I have to grab my purse and then get out, go around the car and open Rhett’s door. Fifty percent of the time, I have to put his shoes back on before I get him unbuckled and out of the car. Then I have to grab whatever toy he’s brought with him, his blanket that he can’t seem to leave home without—”
Mick’s gaze shot to Rhett, who was trying to pull said blanket out from under one of his feet.
“And then I have to usher or carry him into wherever we’re going. I’m sorry if my car isn’t up to your standards, but I only have two hands, and they’re usually full of our son’s shit.”
“I can have one of the prospects detail it for you,” Mick replied, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “If that would help.”
“Only until the next time Rhett rode with me to the store,” I muttered, leaning back in to grab the last of the flotsam and jetsam that was littering the passenger seat of my car. I waved my hand in his direction. “I noticed that you’d joined the club.”
“Hard to miss,” he said, glancing down at the leather cut he wore. Taking the garbage from my hands, he strode over to a garbage can by the side of the house and threw it inside.
“You ready, buddy?” I asked, knocking on Rhett’s window as I rounded the car.
“Truck,” he yelled in response. I should’ve anticipated that. If the choices were to ride in Mom’s boring old Subie or a cool truck, the answer would always be the truck for Rhett.