Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 60342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 302(@200wpm)___ 241(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 302(@200wpm)___ 241(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)
“Please proceed.”
“How do I get her to understand that she can trust me?”
“Be trustable.”
“Not helpful, Chase.”
He looks at me through the chair legs. “I mean it. Every time something comes up that you can use to build her trust, do it. Everyone is trustworthy until it’s time to do trustworthy shit.”
“That’s it?”
He sighs. “Look, Luke. I’m not a relationship kind of guy. I might be married, but that’s because Megan is literally the only person in the world that I could be with.”
“That’s how I feel about … my girl.” Don’t slip up. Don’t say her name.
“I don’t have to really work on my relationship with Megan. We have date nights, and I get her flowers on Fridays when I grab pizza on my way home for movie night. But the rest of it is just day-to-day stuff. Showing up. Being the guy I say I am—the man I want to be. Shit like that. If you want her to trust you, show up as the trustworthy guy. Do it consistently, and she won’t have a reason not to believe you.”
“Okay, okay. You’re pretty good at this.”
He shrugs, turning his attention back to the chair.
“I have one more thing,” I say.
“Hurry up. You’re starting to get on my nerves.”
“Rude.” I sit on the bench. “What would you do if, say, Megan had a super famous job? And she couldn’t leave it, and you didn’t want her to. But you also really liked your life and what you do here. How do you make that work?”
Chase stands, narrowing his eyes. He lifts a brow.
I smile.
He nods and goes back to the task at hand. “If Megs was a musician, let’s say, and I ran a business out of the shed, I’d decide what’s most important and adjust.”
“But what if you were … a welder,” I say. “And Dad welded, and so did Grandpa. And you’re the new generation of welders in the family. Could you walk away from that?”
Chase sets the block down and plants his hands on the picnic table. He watches me, amused.
“If Megan wanted to go to the moon, I’d buy the three of us tickets, and off we’d go,” he says. “Because there’s nothing more important to me than my wife. Not a damn fucking thing.”
He’s right. I knew it before I came here. But I just needed to hear it from him to be sure.
“Are we done now?” my brother asks. “You’re either going to help or hit the road.”
“I’m out of here. Thanks, Chase.”
“Bye.”
I walk across the lawn to my truck, formulating a plan.
“We got this, Laina. You need to realize that I’ll do anything for you.”
And I mean anything.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Laina
I fold the last towel and place it back in the bin.
Since the call with my father, I’ve been full of nervous energy. I’m too twitchy to sit still. I can’t quiet my mind. Something is off with Dad. He was too bold, even for him.
Between worrying about him and anxiously waiting for Luke to return, I’m all over the place. The only thing that helped me calm down was folding laundry. I folded the load in the dryer from three days ago, everything in my suitcase—which needed it anyway—and Luke’s T-shirts. They were in desperate need of help.
I’ve practiced my speech countless times, ensuring that I cover my bases. There must be an apology, an admission of wrongdoing, and a plan of attack to improve. To do better. At least, that’s what the publicist on Social suggested. It sounded better than anything I free balled—most of which ended up in a ramble and tears.
I can do better than that.
The only hiccup I foresee between Luke and me would be if he chose not to engage with my music life. He may think it’s too nasty and too complicated. He may see what it’s done to me and not want anything to do with it. He may very well think it will be the source of constant conflict and a massive headache—and he wouldn’t be wrong.
And I can’t blame him for worrying about that.
But I have hope, a lot of it, that he’ll love me more than he hates my job.
The roar of an engine breaks the silence, and I hold my breath, waiting for Luke’s truck to fly around the corner of the house and park in front of the barn. But that doesn’t happen. Instead, the vehicle seems to stop in front of the house, and multiple doors open and close.
Who the hell is that?
I abandon the laundry basket and head for the entryway. The doorbell rings as I reach for the handle. Good timing. My heart pounds as I pull it toward me … and nearly collapse onto the floor.
My father and Tom stand on Luke’s porch. A short, redheaded man with a phone aimed directly at my face is between them, tucked behind their elbows as if he predicts an explosion.