Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 87736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Mission apparently accomplished and then some.
I found myself closing my eyes as I thought about how good Sawyer's hand had felt in mine. The brief physical contact had been more proof that my body wasn't as dead as I’d thought. In that moment, I'd seriously been considering drawing Sawyer forward to see what he’d do. To see what he’d let me do.
A knock on my bedroom door tore me from the fantasies that had been keeping me company all evening. After Isaac had interrupted us in the barn, Sawyer had spouted off some rushed excuse about having an appointment before tearing out of the building, leaving me alone with Isaac who'd been less than thrilled at the prospect. My interaction with Sawyer’s confusing behavior had left me wanting to do nothing but escape myself and so I’d returned to my room. That had been hours ago, and I could only assume that whatever well-meaning person was at my door figured food would sweeten my sour mood.
"Not hungry," I said loudly enough for whoever it was to hear me.
"Good," Maddox said from behind me. Despite his size, the guy had always moved like the stealthiest of predators. I hadn't even heard him open the door.
My former best friend and I hadn't spoken more than a few words since he'd dragged me to the place he now called home. And the words that had been spoken had all been on his part.
I remained where I was, facing the window seat, though the blinds had long ago been drawn down. With thoughts of Sawyer on my mind, I hadn't exactly been interested in the view anyway.
Maddox came around my chair and sat down on the window seat. He set a bottle of whiskey and two shot glasses on the bench next to him. I could see that the brand of whiskey was the same we'd always had after completing a mission. Although Maddox had been my commanding officer, when the job had been over, we'd automatically donned our best friend caps. The longing to be able to go back to those days ran deep, but too much had happened. We weren't the same men anymore.
We never would be.
Despite that fact, I took the shot glass when he handed it to me because getting drunk sounded like a pretty damn good idea. Anything to make me forget the way Sawyer had whispered that one word to me.
Don't.
Don't what? Had he been disgusted that I'd touched him? Did the idea of a guy with no legs touching him make him sick to his stomach? Or maybe there were other reasons he hadn't wanted my skin against his. While I was certain that I was right about him being gay, that was all I was sure about. He wouldn't be the first gay guy to shun me because of the color of my skin. I'd pretty much seen the gamut of bigotry since I'd come out when I'd been twelve. I wasn't black enough for the Black men and not white enough for the white ones. Thankfully, I’d still found plenty of guys who hadn’t cared either way, but getting my legs lopped off had pretty much obliterated my future prospects.
Determined to put Sawyer from my mind, I downed the drink and then held out the glass. Maddox threw back his own shot and then filled my glass again. "You about done?" he asked.
"Not even close," I said as I swallowed the amber liquid and relished the burn in my belly. I held the glass out expectantly. I was actually surprised when Maddox filled it again.
"My family will take whatever punishment you dish out, Jett," Maddox said as he refilled his own glass. His comment made me realize he hadn't been talking about me being done after drinking a shot. "You want to know why they're willing to put up with your crap?" he asked.
I didn't. I really didn't. So in response, I downed the third shot. As the alcohol began to numb my insides, my limbs felt heavy. Even the ones I no longer had. That was one of the worst things about losing my legs… looking down and seeing that they were gone but still feeling them. The doctors had called it phantom limb syndrome. I called it bullshit. I called it fucking torture. To actually feel my legs but know that I couldn't stand, couldn't run, couldn't do anything but sit on my ass for the rest of my life.
I held out my glass again but this time instead of filling it, Maddox took it from me. He set his own unfinished drink on the bench next to him and then rested his elbows on his legs. "You're family," he murmured as he stared at the floor. "My family is your family. You don't get a choice in that. I don't care how much that pisses you off, that was a promise we made to each other. Before every mission, after them. You can pretend you've forgotten that, but I haven't. So do your worst, Jett. If it makes you feel better to hurt me by hurting the ones I love, then have at it."