Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 115525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
“I’ll be fine,” he reassured them, then closed and locked the door behind them.
Rayne stood at the bottom of the stairs and listened to the mayhem Mike was causing in his bedroom. He took a deep breath, said a short prayer for strength, and headed upstairs to do what Mike needed him to.
To bring him peace.
Mike
If that witch had never shown her face today, Mike would’ve been able to present his gift to Bishop and Edison like he’d planned: a beautiful, nearly impossible-to-obtain wedding venue in the middle of June at the beating heart of the Norfolk Botanical Gardens. A favor Mike had harbored for almost three years. He couldn’t understand why karma kept kicking him in the nuts anytime he tried to make up for being a shitty father to his boys for so many years.
Hatred choked him and cut off his air. It felt like shards of ice were slicing at his heart, and Mike was defenseless against the pain. It was killing him slowly, surely. There was so much rage building within his chest that he knew soon it would consume him. Mike was running out of things to destroy, his hands burning to tear things apart. He picked up his lamp on his bedside table and was prepared to hurl it across the room when Rayne appeared at the door.
“Put it down,” he said in that smooth, relaxed voice that Mike loved. “I know you’re hurting, but that’s enough.”
Mike’s chest was heaving as if he’d just finished a heavyweight, twelve-round bout. He could see Rayne, and he could hear his soft voice through the ringing in his ears, but it wasn’t penetrating.
“Mike, please. Come to me.”
Anger boiled in his stomach. He couldn’t touch Rayne right now; there was too much ferocity radiating beneath his skin.
“Just give me a minute,” he managed, sounding winded. “I need to— I gotta get this out.”
“Mike, please don’t leave. Let me help,” Rayne begged when Mike blew past him.
“I’m not leaving. I’ll be in here,” Mike said and slammed the door to his workout room. If Rayne wouldn’t allow him to take it out on the house, then he’d take it on his body. He deserved the punishment.
Chapter Fifty-four
Rayne
Rayne checked his watch again. Now it was after midnight. Another hour had gone by. That made four. Mike was still in his workout room, breaking himself apart. Each time Rayne peeked inside, Mike was either punching the hell out of the heavy bag, doing push-ups, cranking out pull-ups, or bench-pressing far too much weight than he probably should. Anytime Rayne tried to get his attention, he hissed at him to go away, and he did, but he never went far.
Rayne understood Mike was hurt by his son eloping—any parent would be—but he didn’t have to punish himself because of it. Ivy was the one who’d brought all of that drama to the house; it was just real bad timing. They could still celebrate Edison and Bishop’s union with a reception or a nice dinner. This didn’t have to be a terrible thing.
Rayne sat at the top of the stairs in the dark, waiting for Mike to wear himself out, pass out, or something. His heart ached with each strained grunt and growl Mike released, with every cry of pain that reached Rayne’s ears. Since Bishop had told Mike about the proposal, he’d been working nonstop in the evening, making deals, calling in favors, all to give his boy and his fiancé the wedding they deserved. In bed last night, Mike had told him that doing this was finally going to make up for all the times he hadn’t been able to give Bishop what he wanted.
Rayne drove his hands through his hair, still damp from his shower. How was he supposed to get Mike to see it differently? There were a few minutes of silence, and Rayne jumped to his feet and cracked the door open.
“Mike,” he said, his voice low.
Mike had a pair of earbuds in his ear, and Rayne could hear the muffled heavy-metal noise from where he stood near the door. He waved his hands to catch Mike’s attention while he was selecting a set of dumbbells.
Mike’s face was flushed a deep crimson, and sweat rained down his face and bare chest like he was in the shower. His veins bulged in his neck and forearms, and his hands looked swollen even under the protective tape. Mike removed one earbud long enough to mutter, “Out, Rayne.”
“Mike, please. How about you stop for now; you can always come back and do more later. Let’s get in the hot tub outside and get a little night air.”
“Not right now. Out, okay.”
“No.”
Mike hefted a set of fifty-pound dumbbells and began to alternate bicep curls, veins bulging out of his forehead and temple. Jesus, if he didn’t stop soon, he was going to cause permanent damage since his muscle fibers had to be well torn by now. Continuing to overstrain them was only going to make the delayed onset muscle soreness even worse. Unable to move, kind of worse.