Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83602 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83602 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
“Thank you.”
“I like to give you a hard time. It started out as a way to get back at my father…torture Sarah’s daughter. But eventually, getting under your skin sort of just became this fun little game. Tonight, when you cried, I knew I’d taken it too far and that for you, it wasn’t a game. As hard as it may be to believe, I never meant to hurt you, and I sure as fuck wouldn’t stand by and let someone else hurt you, either.”
He looked up at the ceiling again, and his lips bent into a frown as he pondered what he’d just said.
I lifted my index finger and brushed it softly across the spot on his lip that got torn in the fight. He closed his eyes, and my heart started to pound furiously as his breathing quickened with every stroke of my finger over his warm lip. “I’m sorry you got hurt.”
“It was worth it,” he said without delay.
I stopped touching him, and he looked at me. The sarcastic glare he used to give me was replaced with a look of sincerity.
Since I had his attention, I used the opportunity to change the subject. “You want to be a writer?”
He returned his gaze to the ceiling. “I am a writer. I’ve been writing since I was a little boy.”
“What’s Lucky and the Lad about? Why were you ashamed to show it to me?”
Looking uncomfortable, he repositioned his body. “I just wasn’t ready to talk about it.” He smiled and hesitantly said, “Lucky was my dog, actually.”
I couldn’t contain my smile. “You wrote a story about him?”
“Sort of. It’s like a supernatural version of my life with him. Lucky was not only my best friend, but he was the only thing that could calm me down when I was younger. I suffered from pretty bad ADHD back then and had to be on medication for a while. When my mother brought Lucky home, my behavior improved dramatically. So, while the story is based loosely on Lucky and me, it’s really about a boy who has superpowers that he uses to help solve crimes, but he can only decipher all the noise in his head when the dog is with him. The dog gets kidnapped as blackmail at one point, and the rest of the story becomes about getting Lucky back. It’s set in Ireland.”
“Wow. Why Ireland?”
“I’ve always had this weird obsession with all things Irish.” He pointed to the two shamrocks on his abs. “Case in point. I think it’s my way of trying to connect to that side of me—Randy’s side—since I have no real connection with him. That sounds kind of fucked up, but it’s the only explanation I have.”
“What happened to Lucky?”
“Lucky died shortly after Randy left my mother. So, it was a lot happening at once.”
I put my hand on his arm. “I’m sorry, Elec.”
“It’s okay.”
Looking down at my hand sitting atop his sleeve tattoo, I thought long and hard about asking my next question. “Why does he treat you like that?”
He looked over at me. “Thank you for standing up to him last night. I wasn’t that drunk. I heard everything you said, and I’ll never forget it.” He closed his eyes. “But I don’t want to talk about him, Greta. It’s a long story, and it’s too complicated to get into at two-thirty in the morning.”
I wasn’t going to press my luck. This was more than I’d ever gotten out of him.
“Okay. We don’t have to talk about it.” After a long moment of silence, I asked, “Can I read your book?”
He laughed and shook his head. “Wow. You’re just a million questions tonight.”
“I guess I’m just excited that I’m finally getting to meet my stepbrother.”
He nodded in understanding. “I don’t know if I want you to read the book. No one’s ever read it. I keep telling myself I’m gonna figure out how to publish it, but I never do. It’s not perfect, but it’s the story I’m most happy with. I’m pretty sure there are lots of mistakes I haven’t caught.”
“I would love to read it. And if I catch any mistakes, I can let you know. English is sort of my thing.”
He smiled and rolled his eyes. “I’ll think about it.”
“Okay. Fair enough.”
When he turned to me again, the gray of his eyes lit up in the lamplight. He made himself comfortable and relaxed into the pillow. “Tell me about your father.”
He was looking at me so attentively, and it touched me that he wanted to know about him.
I sighed and stared off. “His name was Keith. He was a good man, a Boston firefighter, actually. My mom was 17 when she met him, but he was older—in his twenties—so it was really taboo. He was her one true love. We lived a simple life, but it was a good one. I was his little princess. One day, he just started complaining about a cough and within a month, he was diagnosed with advanced lung cancer. It took him from us six months later.”