Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 73383 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73383 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
-Sway’s New Year’s resolution
Hancock
I jogged up to the stadium’s side entrance that the players used and yanked the door open, practically falling inside the moment I felt the cool air.
“Motherfucker it’s hotter than a cow’s balls outside,” I gasped, leaning against the first wall I came to.
“That was eloquent,” Gentry drawled, arriving just after me.
“Fuck you,” I grumbled. “Why the fuck do I run with you, anyway?”
“Because you don’t want to be fat like your brothers,” Gentry shot back, reminding me exactly why I ran with him. “Well, all brothers but one.”
I didn’t want to be fat like my brothers.
Or my dad.
Not that they were fat, per se. But they did have beer bellies, and I knew for a fact that I would have one if I stopped working out and forcing myself to eat healthily.
I had a weak spot for beer and fried chicken.
I was a Southern boy, born and raised.
I liked my food fried, my beer cold, and my ladies soft.
Like Sway.
Gentry threw his arm out and caught me side armed in the shoulder.
“Let’s go,” he ordered. “Now, we have to go see your cute, little…”
We both stopped when we heard the anguished scream, then started running.
Rhys, the third baseman, came running out of the room like his ass was on fire.
“What the fuck, man?” I asked, stopping him before he could get too far.
“Something happened to George’s kid. I think…I think he died,” Rhys explained quickly, his face a mask of worry. “He’s pulling his goddamned hair out. I think we need to call 911, but I don’t have a phone.”
I slammed Rhys on the arm with the side of my fist.
He was a good man, but he didn’t know how to handle emotions. He was like a fucking blank wall. Getting the man to crack a goddamn smile was like pulling teeth. I wasn’t sure he even comprehended half the jokes that were said. Mostly because he had to be a fucking robot not to laugh at one of them.
And for him to think that George needed an ambulance was telling.
George, or Furious George, was the six-foot-six powerhouse who was the biggest man on the team.
He played centerfield and was damn excellent at what he did.
His hitting average was almost unheard of, and he was an all-around great baseball player.
Furious George, though, had a problem.
His temper, even on the best of days, wasn’t so great.
In fact, he’d lose it over just about anything if it rubbed him wrong.
“Gentry,” I pointed to Rhys. “Go get the truck.”
Gentry nodded and darted off, sprinting as if he hadn’t just run four miles with me.
I headed into the locker room, freezing at seeing a man as big and full of life as George was, on his knees crying.
For real, tears were streaming down the big man’s cheeks like they were never going to end.
“George,” I said roughly. “George. Tell me what’s wrong.”
He didn’t answer at first. In fact, I had to repeat myself three more times before I finally got anything out of him.
And what I heard was enough to gut me forever.
“My boy,” he cried. “He was in an accident, and they don’t expect him to live.”
“Which hospital?” I barked, trying to break through to him.
George’s back stiffened, and he turned his face up to mine.
And that’s when I saw the pure devastation there.
The anguish was apparent, but he seemed to shelve some of it, compartmentalize it until he had his head on straight enough to function.
“They flew him to Dallas. Children’s,” he answered, his voice breaking halfway through.
“Let’s go,” I ordered, snapping my fingers at him.
The ride to Children’s wasn’t very comfortable.
The entire time George kept his eyes straight ahead, staring blankly at the road in front of us.
I’d had to pee for at least the last hour of our drive from having downed two bottles of water right before the incident, but I wasn’t stopping.
Not until we got to the hospital.
“He was hit by a drunk driver,” George muttered into the quiet cab.
My heart fell.
I didn’t dare reply.
I didn’t want him going ape shit in the truck with me. I also didn’t want him to talk if he didn’t want to.
What I wouldn’t do for Gentry to be here right now.
I’d intended for him to come. Gentry was the smooth talker. The man that could get anyone to talk.
But George had taken one look at him and told him to go away.
Gentry had looked at me for guidance, and I’d shook my head, telling him without words not to bother.
Which led us to now.
Two hours into our silent trip.
“He was riding his bike with my ex-wife at the park, and the fucker lost control of his vehicle at the stop sign. Instead of turning right where there was a ditch, he turned left, right into my kid who only learned how to pedal the wheels of his bike last week.”