Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 105667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
“Come on, we gotta get out of here.” Day gripped the back of his arm and moved them quickly out of the alley and into a waiting taxi.
“Wait… my truck.”
“It’s taken care of.” Day stopped him from getting out of the vehicle.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you owe me two hundred dollars because that’s what I just paid the bartender to follow us back to my place in your truck.”
God spun around and saw his huge truck’s headlights behind them.
“You have a stranger driving my truck… my fucking guns are in there, Leo.”
“You should’ve thought about that earlier, Cash,” Day growled right back.
“If you’re going to lecture me, Leo… fucking save it.” God slid down and let his aching head rest against the seat as the cab accelerated onto the highway.
“You know me better than that, Cash. I’m not going to lecture you. I’m going to kick your ass,” Day said matter-of-factly and turned to look out the window. Neither one said anything else the rest of the ride.
Thank You Tracking App
Day climbed out of the taxi and told the driver to hold on while throwing a few more bills at the man. “Take that guy back to the bar.”
The bartender turned into Day’s driveway and parked God’s truck at an awkward angle. He hopped down out of the cab full of energy.
“That’s a cool truck, dude. Wish I could’ve opened her up on the freeway. How fast does she—”
“Just get away from it,” God grumbled while walking over to inspect it as if the guy had done something to damage it internally.
“Hey, man, I just did you a favor and that’s the thanks I get.” The bartender turned offended eyes on Day.
“You don’t need thanks, you just got two hundred bucks… now go,” Day said while holding the cab’s door open. The pissed-off man slid into the seat and turned back to say something to Day, but he quickly slammed the door and banged twice on the roof telling the driver to go.
When the cab was out of sight, Day turned and strolled up to his partner, who was now checking his truck for his weapons.
“Let’s go inside, God,” Day said around a yawn.
“I’m going home, I’m fine to drive now,” he said quietly.
“The hell you are. You can sleep on my couch, man, it’s almost four in the morning,” Day said quickly.
“I’ll be fine. Doubt I’ll be sleeping anyway,” God responded, already pulling himself up into the driver’s seat.
Day jumped inside the truck door to prevent God from closing it. He heard him let out a frustrated breath.
“Cash, talk to me, man. What the fuck was that all about tonight? The text, the liquor, you trying to kill a man with your bare hands… that fucking rage?”
“Nothing, Leo. Go in the house. I was just blowing off some steam. I’m a man. It happens to all of us every now and then… right?”
God didn’t look him in his eyes when he spoke, and Day knew something wasn’t right.
“Try that bullshit on someone with a GED, okay. I saw your anger, I saw the pain, I saw the confusion, and I saw when that punk’s face turned into an enemy’s… so out with it. Is someone bothering you, Cash? I’m your partner, man, you should know by now you can trust me with this, just like you trust me to watch your six when we’re out there on the streets.”
Day was shoved back when God jumped out of the truck and barely made it to the side of the house before he wretched up all the high-octane comfort he’d had tonight.
Day walked over to his partner, placed a warm hand on his muscular back, and felt it tense and contract while he coughed and dry heaved after there was nothing left in there but his stomach lining. Day’s hand was forcibly shrugged off.
“A little fucking privacy, Leo,” God barked.
“All right.” Day put his hand up and turned to walk back to his partner’s truck to take the keys from the ignition and pocket them. He went in the house, leaving all the lights off except the hallway. He went in the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee and popped two pieces of bread in the toaster. He was adding two spoons of creamer to God’s mug when he heard his front door slam.
“My keys, Day. Or are you going to hold me hostage?” God said from the entrance to his modest kitchen.
He stalked over and rinsed his mouth out repeatedly in the sink before taking the offered coffee mug and saucer of lightly browned toast. He raised those striking green eyes up at Day and said thank you without speaking.
Day figured he’d leave his partner alone to deal with his demons for now. Obviously the guy wasn’t up for sharing time. He clamped his palm down on a broad shoulder.