Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 159500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 798(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 532(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 159500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 798(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 532(@300wpm)
Still, right now I would make up any bullshit just to hold him, just to feel him stroking my head with so much affection my heart can hardly take it.
I message him often, I’ve tried to call, but there’s no answer, so I’m guessing he’s turned his phone off, and I don’t have his other number. I wouldn’t dare use it even now, because it could put him at risk. I did try going to his house, sat in the bushes nearby for hours, but he’s not been home once. As far as I know, he’s staying at the Butcher clubhouse, where I can’t reach him.
Nausea makes me unwilling to leave the bed yet, but as I’m about to doze off, a loud thump forces me to sit up so fast Nutter rolls off my chest and onto Bagel’s pudgy body resting in my lap. The sudden change of position makes my world spin, brain rattling in my skull as if it’s a bit of plastic floating in a snow globe. I fall back onto the pillow just as confident yet unhurried steps move through my house.
Whoever invaded my space doesn’t try to hide their presence, so I relax and force my eyes open to see Rooster as he stands in the open doorway to my bedroom. He freezes, seeing that my eyes are open, then offers me an awkward smile.
“Heeey, Road! Sorry, the door was open,” he says, entering with a large tray full of plates, cups, and bowls. “Thought I’d bring you breakfast since… you know, it’s already afternoon.”
Is it?
I pinch the bridge of my nose in vain hope that this could somehow help with the congestion and ache I’m feeling, but it’s no use. “I… had a headache.”
“My mom made it.” Rooster puts a big plate of food next to me along with cutlery. Bacon, eggs, a waffle, and even a toast with cheese. All of it reminds me of what Clyde fed me. I’ve never had better bacon than the one he fried for me. I almost see his bright smile as he hands me a plate, and the steaming food in front of me feels bland in comparison.
In fact, the smell of butter makes me a bit ill, but I don’t stop Rooster when he waves Nutter away from the plate.
“Uh… thanks? Did we party together last night, or something?” I ask, reaching for the cup of black coffee, which might be my only salvation right now. It’s bitter, strong, just like I like it, but it can’t help with the emptiness I feel each time my thoughts drift to Clyde.
What is he doing? Does he miss me? Was I a mistake to him? Is he plotting revenge with his brothers? Is he considering another lover now that he’s eased into—
I must have clenched my fingers on the cup handle too hard, because it breaks, and the whole fucking cup of coffee falls into my lap, spilling all over the comforter.
“Oh fuck!” Rooster exclaims and tries to grab the T-shirt off me to dab the bedding, but my instinct kicks in and I growl at him like a damn dog. I pull away with it so fast, only Rooster’s reflexes save the plate of food.
He takes a deep breath and stands back awkwardly with my breakfast in hand.
“So… I can take this to the laundry later if you want.”
I glare at him. “What is it, Rooster?”
“I just wanted to say that I know you weren’t all that happy about me stealing the Butchers’ van, and there might be a vote on my membership soon, so if there’s something I can do—”
“Not the right time, Roost, Jesus Christ,” I growl, kicking off the covers. Thankfully, all the pussies scattered when the coffee spilled onto the comforter. “And you got that right, I am still pissed off over that,” I say, rolling out of bed, still in the clothes I wore last night, in my boots, and with gongs echoing in my head every time I move.
Rooster puts the plate on my table and shifts back with his hands up. “Okay, so when you feel better, maybe we can talk about it. Just let me know what you need, man.”
I need Clyde in my bed, but he can’t get me that, now can he? I wave him off and stare at the food before taking hold of a dry piece of toast. Two of the cats are peeking over the edge of the table, interested in what’s on offer. I don’t stop them when they approach the plates. It’s not like I have the stomach for anything but bread. I’m surprised to notice there are two pills resting on the edge of the tray, alongside a glass of water, so I stuff them in my mouth, hoping it’s Tylenol, or some other thing that can help me with my hangover.