Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 26503 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 133(@200wpm)___ 106(@250wpm)___ 88(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26503 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 133(@200wpm)___ 106(@250wpm)___ 88(@300wpm)
“I know, Dad. I’m sorry.” I start to say more, but he cuts me off.
“Son, you only live in the next town over, not even twenty minutes away from us. You made a big production about wanting to make it on your own and living away from home. I think that’s admirable, and I’m not knocking you for standing on your own two feet. I’ve raised you to be a man, and that’s what a man does.” He reaches out, squeezing my shoulder, and I can feel some tension dissolve at his fatherly touch. “But you need to think of your mom and your sister and what you mean to this family. You ran out of here as fast as you could but didn’t really go too far. I want you to tell me why you’re avoiding your home, and don’t deny that you are. Things have changed, and we all know it. You’re making a good living with what you do, and it’s time we had a serious talk about your future and what that means for all of us.”
I look away from him to the afternoon sunshine, letting it blind me a little. I want the light to blur my vision so that I don’t have to see the look on his face. If he could read my mind and what I truly want, the disappointment would be too great. I open my mouth a couple of times to unburden myself, but then stop. Telling him what’s in my heart would only relieve my guilt for a moment. It wouldn’t change anything, and it would only hurt him, so there’s no fucking point in passing it to someone else.
“Dad,” I say, letting out a long breath. I don’t know what should come next, so I try to think of a reason why I’m avoiding my family.
“Jasper, Carol and I have talked about what we think is best for you and—”
His words are cut off by the sound of a truck pulling up, and we both look over to see it’s John Bishop. And he looks mad as hell.
“Well, shit. That didn’t take long,” I say, climbing off the tractor.
“What did you do?” my dad asks as we walk in the direction of the truck.
“Nothing really. Just punched his kid in the mouth.”
We meet Mr. Bishop in the middle, and as he gets closer, I see he’s mad as hell.
“You broke his nose,” Mr. Bishop says by way of greeting, and my dad steps in front of him, shielding me.
“Your boy ought to keep his hands off my sister,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. I’m not sorry I broke the little shit’s nose. I’m sorry I don’t have a claim on Libby to keep people from thinking they can touch her.
My dad looks between the two of us—me standing there casually without an ounce of remorse, the older man with a red face, now stumbling over his words.
“He didn’t…she’s. They’re dating,” Mr. Bishop finally says, and anger flares inside me.
Libby hadn’t said anything like that to me in the truck, but it’s not like I gave her a chance to. I was too busy pawing at her and scaring her half to death to let her explain the situation. Goddamn it, I’m an asshole. I open my mouth to apologize, but my dad’s voice stops me.
“No she isn’t, John. And I’d thank you to inform your son of that. Nothing against you and yours, but my daughter made it very clear that she isn’t dating anyone at the moment.”
The relief that floods me is almost comical. I want to laugh and fall to my knees all at the same time, but I don’t do either. Instead, I hold my pose and let the information sink in, knowing I did the right thing. At least, I think I did.
Mr. Bishop looks between the two of us and sees that there isn’t a fight he’s going to win out here today. He takes a step back from my dad and gives me a hard look.
“I won’t be responsible if my boy tries to settle a score with you. I’m warning you now to watch your ass.”
“You tell him once he quits crying to his daddy to come see me. I’ll give him another ass-whooping to carry home to you.”
Mr. Bishop’s face turns seventeen shades of red before he turns and stomps off in the direction of his truck. My dad gives me a look that tells me there was no need to poke the bear, but I shrug.
“Did he really put his hands on Libby?” my dad asks, and I see his fists clench at his side.
He’s always been as protective of her as I have, and I like that about him. My dad never distanced himself from her and always calls her his daughter. He could have just as easily called her his stepdaughter, but he loves her like she’s his own. And I know that means a lot to her.