Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 79036 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79036 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
“Love!” I shout, hands fisting, nails digging into my palms. It takes everything inside me not to punch the door, a wall, something, and I’ve never been the type to hit things in anger. The only time I have was with Rhett. “We lacked a father who gave a fuck about us! We lacked having you here! Christ, Easton thinks you don’t love him, and I tried to explain to him how you do, and I couldn’t come up with a fucking thing. Do you know how sad that is? That’s not the way it’s supposed to be.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose, something he’s always done when frustrated. I wait for him to yell at me, to raise his voice because it’s what he usually does, but instead, I hear a soft, resigned, “Did you only come home to tell me all the ways I’ve wronged you? All the ways I don’t live up to your expectations? If so, it was a wasted trip. Focusing on the past doesn’t change anything, Morgan. Now, if you’re done lecturing me, I’d like to get back to work.”
I stand there watching him for a moment, unable to move. His response shouldn’t surprise me, not after everything he’s done, and yet it does. “You really only had us for Mom, didn’t you? Once we were here, you wanted to mold us into who you wanted us to be, but you had us for her.”
He sighs and looks up at me. “No. You talk about me trying to mold the three of you, but you do the same to me. I might not be the kind of father you want, but I’m still your father, and I’ve always taken care of my kids.”
With money, not time, but there’s no point in telling him that. He’ll never get it. Never see it.
“Why can’t you be more like your older brother? You focus too much on emotions, just like your mother, and all that did was hurt her over and over in her life. Rhett is the only one of my children with a damn bit of sense.”
But then, he would never say that to Rhett. He’ll tell Rhett everything he does is wrong too.
“I won’t be home tonight. I’ll call Rhett to come and check on you.” I don’t care if I have to stay in a hotel, I can’t sleep in this house tonight. I feel too raw, too angry. My body is shaking, almost to the point where I fear my legs will give out.
“I don’t need anyone to check on me.”
I close his door without replying. I go upstairs, grab a few things, shoot a text to Rhett that I’m not staying here tonight, and leave.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Dusty
I try to distract myself with repairs and not think about Morgan the rest of the day, but it doesn’t work. Five comes around, and Easton is cleaning up, when I say, “I’m gonna stick around and take care of some things. You can leave that. I’ll pick up.”
“Morgan coming back?”
My gaze snaps to him. The way he asked, I don’t think Morgan told him. There’s a possibility he heard us, but we were at the other end of the building, so he would have had to come down that direction and listen. “Yeah. How did you know?”
He shrugs, as if that’s an answer—and when you’re talking to Easton Swift, it is. He gives what he wants and keeps quiet the rest of the time.
“You’ve got this mysterious thing going on about you,” I tell him.
“Do I?” He cocks his head. “I didn’t know. Have fun.” Easton grabs his things and leaves, and I clean up and putter around the shop, waiting for Morgan.
I shouldn’t feel a buzz beneath my skin, but I do. It’s always been like that with him, though sometimes it’s softer than others. Over the years since he’s been gone, sometimes I forget it’s there at all, but it’s made a reappearance along with him. Right now it’s just a quiet buzz I can hardly feel, but I still know it’s there.
I’m just about finished when there’s a knock on the metal door, before it creaks and pulls open. “Dust?” Morgan calls out.
“I’m here.” I head toward the door as he closes it behind him. There’s something off about him. His back is stiff in a way it usually is when he’s angry or feels uncomfortable in his own skin. “What’s wrong?”
The simple question loosens him up slightly. “I swear sometimes it’s like you know something is wrong with me before I do…not that I don’t know right now. Just my dad and his typical shit. I really want to forget about him for tonight, though. Can we do that?”
I’ll never understand Gregory Swift, and the less time spent talking about him the better. “Talk about who?” I tease, and he gives a small grin. Not a real one, but he’s trying. “Do you want to grab dinner first or get started?”