Total pages in book: 19
Estimated words: 18476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 92(@200wpm)___ 74(@250wpm)___ 62(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 18476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 92(@200wpm)___ 74(@250wpm)___ 62(@300wpm)
“Aw,” a small giggle bounces around the cab, “that’s morbidly romantic, Cowboy. Almost in a Tim Burton, Edgar Allan Poe lovechild sort of way.”
“What can I say?” He reaches for his seatbelt a second time. “I am as the big guy upstairs made me.”
“Stubborn with a great ass?”
Loud chuckles are paired to him backing out of the parking space. “That too.”
Once we’re on the road about three cars behind Tom, I prod for the information he still hasn’t delivered. “So…”
His hands curl around the steering wheel tighter.
“What exactly happened?”
“First off, I think my little brother is in love.”
“What?!!”
“And second off, I find it beyond horrifyin’ that a crowd of people can jus’ stand by and do absolutely nothin’ when a woman is screamin’ at the top of her lungs that some stranger ran off with her child.”
I can’t stop my jaw from landing in my lap. “Ohmygod, what?!”
“And lastly, I may very well be up past midnight wrappin’ you and the girls Christmas gifts.”
“You bought them more stuff?!” Disbelief ceaselessly circles around my expression. “We agreed no more presents!”
“No…” A loving finger is gestured in my direction. “You said no more presents. I just didn’t bother arguin’.”
“Or agreeing apparently.”
The wink I’m shot has me rolling my eyes in annoyance.
Ugh.
This is absolutely one of those, pick your fucking battle moments, which isn’t fair considering I want to have all three conversations. But if I use a little bit of behavioral analysis here, I can eliminate the one regarding gifts because chances are he felt compelled to makeup his absence to our daughters in the holiday fashion and then – statistically speaking – the chances of his puck bunny loving brother actually being into anything other than his own shiny reflection for longer than a season are astronomically low, which leaves only the one topic to truly touch on.
An endangered child.
“Was it a boy or girl you rescued?”
“A boy.”
Knowing the memories, it most likely conjured up has my hand landing lovingly onto his thigh. “What was his name?”
“Oakley.” Slater’s demeanor immediately softens under my touch. “Oakley Stastney.” His hand lands on top of mine. “About the same age as our girls.”
“Stastney…” the name for some reason has me mindlessly repeating it. “Stastney… Stastney…like…Jake Stastney?!” As soon as the full extent of the realization hits me, my entire spine straightens. “Like Kolby’s fucking teammate Stastney?! Did you rescue his teammate’s kid?!”
“I did.” His slow nodding is discomforting. “And while I did that, he might’ve taken protectin’ his teammate’s ex wife a little too far.”
My eyes get so wide they practically bump into the edge of my circle, gold rim glasses. “Nooooo…”
“Yeah.”
“There are rules against that!”
“I know.”
“Like actual player conduct rules on most teams!”
“I know.”
“Not to mention the unspoken one!”
“Trust me, Angel Cake.” He tosses me a slightly concerned expression. “I. Know.”
Silently gawking is the only thing I’m capable of.
“I will say this.” Cowboy smoothly changes lanes, blue wording settling itself on the dashboard in front of him. “I have never seen my little brother look at anyone or anything the way he looks at that woman.”
“Not even new 3Ps?”
“Not even new fuckin’ 3Ps, Angel Cake.”
Wow.
For a guy like him that screams volumes.
“And I know that look. I know that look ‘cause it’s the same look I give you every mornin’ we wake up and every night before we go to bed and at least a baker’s dozen times in between.”
It's impossible not to melt into my heated seat.
“Not spendin’ most of the holiday with you and the girls was never part of my plan, however-”
“No need for a fancy but, Cowboy.”
“However, I couldn’t just let what happened to me, happen to someone else.”
“And I know that. And I know exactly what I signed up for in this friendship as much as this marriage.”
His adoring hand caress comes a tad too soon.
“However-”
“Oh, so, you needed the fancy but.”
“However,” my tone firms up, “our girls don’t.”
He shoots me a puzzled glance.
“They don’t know what it really means to have you running the training sector of R&R. And I get tired of having to be the one to explain to them why daddy isn’t around for things like Nochebuena. And why he had to miss walking them into class on their first day of school. And why he wasn’t around to give their homemade Father’s Day cards to.” Unable to stop the emotional floodgate has me adding, “And why he has to be gone six weeks for a new assignment right after Christmas-”
“I was gonna tell you about that tonight.”
“And I don’t wanna be the one who has to tell them why he had to miss their prom to attend K9 training classes to assist in wooded area rescues. And why their high school graduation wasn’t as important as training new recruits to dive off yachts to save drowning newborns – which is one of the lower risk scenarios given that there are easier ways to dispose of them if a resale isn’t the intention.”