Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107960 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 540(@200wpm)___ 432(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107960 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 540(@200wpm)___ 432(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
Trent scowled, then inched out of his way.
“And no, I don’t have any gastric issues, but thanks for your concern. I’m going to the store later if you want me to pick up anything.”
“I’m good. Thanks.” Trent took his lunch off the counter and went in the opposite direction, around the dining table, to avoid having to pass by him. He walked over to the hall closet and took out a small duffle bag and a yellow hard hat.
So he does construction. He looked prepared to work a long day, and Wood was curious. “What time do you get off? Are you going to the oceanfront with me and Bishop tonight?”
“I’ll think about it.” Trent smiled like he was the damn joker and left out the front door.
Trent
Trent threw his bag in his truck and hurried to get inside out of the freezing cold. He quickly started his old Chevy pickup so she could heat up. He blew his warm breath in his hands as he stared at the front door of his trailer and thought of who loomed beyond it.
When Wood arrived yesterday, his body had been covered with a long-sleeve shirt and jeans, so he’d missed the goddamn tats all over Wood’s upper chest and arms. Colorful, brilliant artwork that he’d never seen anywhere. There was no way those were done in prison, and Trent wanted a closer look, but he’d be damned if he asked. Trent absently licked his lips when he thought of how close they’d stood to one another in the kitchen. Close enough that he could smell Wood’s old-man cologne.
He sat up taller and adjusted in his seat, refusing to acknowledge anything he was feeling. All he wanted to recognize was the irritation he felt at Bishop for moving out and forcing a stranger down his throat. He could handle his friends moving on with their lives; he was used to being cast to the side. But what he wasn’t used to was noticing another man’s very unique scent the way he did Wood’s. It’s probably something ancient like English Leather or Wind & Timber. He ignored the nagging voice in the back of his mind that reminded him that Wood was only forty-six, not even as old as Mike. And he’d never once considered Mike old and still didn’t.
Trent clenched the steering wheel in his cold hands. He wondered if his best friend was truly doing this to him. Bishop was struggling to split his time between school, the love of his life, his dad, his new business, and his best friend. And Trent was positive Bishop’s vertical alignment fell in that order. Mike and Bishop were never around anymore, and they must be feeling guilty for leaving Trent out. Now it seemed as if he was being pawned off onto someone else. Someone who he looked to have nothing in common with and probably didn’t want to be bothered with him in the first place. But beggars couldn’t be choosers, and Wood needed a place to stay. So that meant playing nice with the leftovers.
Trent brought his fist to his mouth when he felt like striking the dashboard. Lashing out wouldn’t make him feel better, so he struggled to push away the disappointment. Everyone was starting to do their own thing, and it was time he did too. He didn’t have any family he could hang out with anymore, and he’d lost his girlfriend a long time ago because he couldn’t be honest with himself. But he’d be damned if he’d accept some pity friendship. If it meant he had to be alone, then so be it. He’d been down this road before.
Trent backed out of the driveway and went to work.
Chapter Six
Wood
Wood was dressed in a pair of dark, olive-green pants and a black, button-up collared shirt he’d got at the Goodwill. He checked himself in the bathroom mirror after he finished finger-combing his hair off his face. When he was done, he made sure to wipe up his mess since it appeared Trent liked to keep things neat. Wood glanced at his prepaid cell phone and wondered how much longer it’d be before the little prick got home.
He was sitting in the armchair in the corner next to the dining room window, sketching in his pad, when the front door opened. He wasn’t sure why his pulse sped up for a brief second or came plummeting down when Bishop rushed inside instead of Trent.
Bishop closed the door quickly behind him. “It’s colder than a well digger’s ass out there.”
“Had a lot of those, have you?” Wood grinned.
“What are you doing by the window?” Bishop frowned.
“I’m stargazing. What’s it look like I’m doing.”
Bishop smiled, coming over to join him. “I’ve sure missed your wry sense of humor, Wood.”
“Drawing in here is easier because this room has the brightest light.” Wood pointed at the fixture above him. “This window gets good natural light in the daytime.”