Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
"Which is exactly the point," I agreed.
"And three-percent whipped cream."
"That should have him hitting all the grocery stores in the area until he finally tries to Google it."
"He's going to get you back for it."
"I'm counting on it," I agreed.
"You know, from the sound of things, it kind of seems like you might be staying for a while."
"I have a lot of catching up to do still."
"I'm happy to hear that, Ace. I think all of you have a lot of recovering to do. Fallon..."
"Yeah," I agreed, nodding. He'd never come back. And when Mom had texted him about brunch the next morning, he had said 'Not a fucking chance in hell'. That was going to be a long, hard road to travel up.
"He's just a royal pain in the ass in general," Vance told me, shrugging. "Hungry to prove himself but has no opportunity to do it. Makes him a moody bastard a good chunk of the time."
"Well, at least I know it's not just me."
"Are you excited about the breakfast? Or nervous?"
"Both, I guess. Not as nervous as I was today. But I think a couple of my uncles are going to have a lot to say. And maybe some of my aunts too."
"And you have to hear them out."
"Exactly," I agreed, nodding.
"Sounds like you need to get some sleep."
"I guess," I agreed. Even if sleep was the last thing on my mind with him so close by.
"Finn changed the sheets out before he headed out. You're all set."
Finn didn't technically have a room. Only patched members had rooms. But with so few of them needing to stay at the clubhouse much anymore, the guys who used to crash there cleared out their stuff which let Finn claim a room right beside our parents. Fallon, a stickler for rules and clear stick-in-the-mud, refused to claim a room until it was in an official capacity.
I think he was secretly hoping Dad would step down. Which would allow him to move into that role. Traditionally, in this club at least, presidents didn't step down. They lost their place because of death only. But our father had always been a little looser with the rules, so it wasn't entirely outside the realm of possibilities that he just might give his place away.
I had to wonder, though, if he truly thought Fallon was mature enough to take his place. It wasn't my business. It wasn't my place. But I couldn't help thinking about it at least.
"Alright," Vance said a moment later, stopping outside Finn's door. "I know you know your way around here probably better than I do, but if you need anything, I'm right there," he said, pointing a few doors down, the second to last one in the hall in the opposite direction of my parents.
"Vance," I called at his retreating back.
"Yeah, Ace?"
"Thank you," I told him, voice a little thick, the events of the day clearly catching up to me quickly.
"Anytime, Ace. Anything," he added, turning and walking back to his room.
Those words were the ones rolling around in my head as I lay on the bed in the very bare room, staring up at the ceiling, hearing the distant sounds of a TV droning on. Likely in my parents' room. My mom tended to fall asleep with it on. And Dad thought she slept better with some background noise, so he left it on when he conked out too.
Other than that, though, the place was quiet.
Or so I thought.
Until there was a brief pause in the TV sound and I heard it.
Music.
The slow, soothing thrumming of a guitar.
I didn't think it through.
I simply followed the urge.
Out of my bed, across the floor, out into the hall, down to his door.
My hand rose, rapping my knuckles gently against his door.
"Yeah?" he called, music still playing.
"Pushing open the door, I stepped in, closing it silently behind me, leaning back against it.
"I can't sleep. I heard you playing," I added. "Can I listen for a while?"
To that, he gave me a lazy smile, nodding his head toward the empty foot of his bed.
I didn't need any more encouragement. I stretched out at the end, my legs cocked to the side to make room for his feet, staring up at the ceiling, just listening.
I couldn't count how many times I'd sat listening to him playing. Sometimes his favorites. Sometimes mine. Other times music he was working on, starting and stopping over and over, jotting down notes, trying to get it right.
There were no words to this unfamiliar song, but Vance hummed along occasionally, a sound that shivered through my insides, turned them warm and gooey.
"Ferryn," he called some time later. Maybe it was only minutes, maybe hours.
"Yeah?" I asked, hearing a certain dreaminess in my voice, feeling it in my eyes as my head shifted on the mattress to look over at him.