Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 58988 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58988 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
“You didn’t cross any line, Royal. We’re family. I was surprised, that’s all.”
Surprised and guilty, because Royal had been worried enough to call in backup. The last thing I wanted was anyone worrying over me.
We’ve only spoken a handful of times in the last few years, but he’s still looking out for me. In between his teasing, I know he always tried to. I’m just… me. Bad at asking for help, apparently. That seems to be the running theme for tonight. As subtle as a hammer.
JD is a stubborn ass.
Yes, but an ass that isn’t in love with a guy he just met last weekend…in a bar.
Stubborn. Ass.
I’m talking to myself. Great.
“There you are!” Rick sounds jovial, his cheeks are flushed and his smile is wider than usual. He and Matilda aren’t big drinkers. “I was trying to pry information out of Carter, but I ended up telling him about the rest of your brothers instead.”
“He doesn’t like to talk about himself. It took me an hour just to find out his name.”
“Not a whole hour.” Carter accepts his drink, reaching for my hand to tug me into the booth beside him. “And Rick’s ten sons are way more interesting. I’m trying to keep up in case there’s a test later.”
“There might be.”
He laughs. “Then let’s review. I’ve met Royal. Craig’s given you grandchildren. Then there’s Grant the lawyer and Chris the piano teacher. You won’t tell me what Dickie and Manwich do for—”
“Hah!” Rick sets his drink down and slaps the table. “Manwich.”
I can’t help but smile. “No one knows what those two are up to. Well, maybe Royal. But that’s a secret he can keep.”
Carter slips his arm around my shoulders and I lean into his heat gratefully. “Who’s left? Stewart is into camping. And Isaac, right? I think Rick told me he lives on an island.”
“The surfing ambassador,” I offer under my breath.
“And Joey is the babysitter. That’s nine.”
“He’s the most successful child you have, his company is worth millions, and you still introduce him as the babysitter.”
“Well he used to be one, and now his company is full of them.”
“His. Company,” I emphasize.
“Of people trained to look after children. Also known as babysitters,” Rick volleys back, his blue eyes sparkling.
“And ten is the barbecue sauce loving, textbook-collecting advice columnist,” Carter finishes smoothly, smiling at both of us. “Quite a list. You and your wife must be proud.”
I take a large gulp of my rum and coke, unwilling to experience this evening on the hotel’s shitty beer. “You’ve done it now,” I whisper loudly.
Rick is already shaking his head. “Matilda and I never believed in taking ownership of their success. Are we impressed? Absolutely. Pride implies we had something to do with it.”
“Didn’t you? You gave them shelter. Compassion. Education. Authority figures to teach them about life and keep them on the right path.”
“You’ve described most federal institutions. Prisons, for example. Though I think their cooking would be an improvement over mine.” He chuckles to himself. “It’s the individual that chooses to succeed or fail within the institution, not the institution itself.”
I put my hand on Carter’s leg and squeeze. “I can’t argue with that, Rick. You’re one of the most brilliant men I know, but you should never attempt food preparation of any kind.”
“Says the boy who set the kitchen on fire.”
“Only once.”
We laugh but when his eyes meet mine, his smile slowly disappears. “You should have told us what happened, Jimmy.”
“I’m sorry.” I reach across the table and impulsively take his hand. “I am. But it was only a scuffle, Rick. A black eye. It was more embarrassing than anything. I’m fine, I promise.”
“We always enjoyed your independent streak. Maybe too much. I think we should have given you more rules.”
“We’ll have to disagree on that,” I say, trying to tease another smile out of him. “And I’d bet all the guys would be on my side.”
“Parents make rules to protect their children,” he says stubbornly, looking down at his drink. “Statistically, a child raised in a structured environment feels more secure.”
I glance over at Carter in apology. “Does Matilda know you’re reading childrearing books again? Or is there something you wanted to tell me? I thought we’d decided you two weren’t bringing anymore kids into the house.”
Rick finishes his drink and meets my gaze. “I was trying to understand why you don’t feel like you can talk to us about your problems.”
Help. “What problems?”
“I saw your apartment. I had no idea you were living like that.”
“Now you sound like a snob.” I really don’t want to have this conversation in front of Carter. “My apartment is perfectly fine. Can we talk about something else? Please?”
“We had the money to send you to college. Everyone else took us up on it, but you wanted to do it on your own. That money is still yours. You could use it on an apartment that’s harder to break into and bigger than a closet, and in four years you’ll have—” He cuts himself off and shakes his head. “You keep saying you’re fine. You know I hate that. Your father said the same thing the day before he died. We believed him and then... I’m fine,” he chokes. “Worst two words in the English language.”