Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87653 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87653 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
I thank them for the ride, feeling like a dick because I didn’t ask them their names or offer any introductions myself before bidding all of them farewell.
I choose to walk around the clubhouse rather than taking the shortcut through the building, stopping at the corner to take a few steadying breaths.
I’ve grown to hate every interaction I have with Rick. I hate the emptiness in my gut when one of us walks away. I hate the anger that has become such a constant part of me, I’m certain I’ll end up with an ulcer from the stress it causes.
What I don’t hate… is him.
Mom and Dad are asleep when I creep into the house, and I’m once again counting my blessings that I don’t have to go through the pleasantries required after not having seen them since last month.
I haven’t been home since Thanksgiving, but they come to Texas at least once a month for a visit. I love them, and I’m incredibly grateful for them, but those visits include suffering in Rick’s presence as well. Begging off and claiming he had other plans only went so far our freshman year. Mom insisted he tag along when we went to dinner or shopping for things they think I needed, and Rick has never been able to tell her no.
We’ve been feeding this lie for so long, I no longer have a clue if we’ll be able to untangle all of it. We’re grown ass men. We should be mature about all of it, but I still have an adolescent urge to stomp my feet and insist he gives me what I want.
Only at this point, I’m not even sure I know what that is.
Chapter 4
Rick
I’m bored.
Not in the I need to find something to do today to fill my mind or my hands.
I’m eternally bored.
We’re already a month into summer, and I just have no urge to do a single damned thing. I don’t want to reach out to old friends from high school. I don’t want to respond to the random texts I’ve been getting from friends from school.
Lifting my can of soda to my mouth, I can’t help but wonder if it’s depression.
This isn’t the first time I’ve considered it.
At first, I could only focus on how emo of me to consider I might be depressed.
Then I realized that wasn’t fair to anyone struggling with their mental health.
That led to being sad that other people are sad.
And maybe that’s depression in a nutshell.
I resist the urge to pull out my phone in search of a checklist of depression symptoms.
Everyone around me is happy and laughing, an impromptu gathering at the Cerberus clubhouse after the guys returned home from field work.
All except Boomer that is. That poor fuck looks just as withdrawn and isolated as usual.
Many would call him the strong silent type.
He’s definitely strong, I think as I let my eyes scan the length of his sitting form across the room. The way his biceps test the quality of his t-shirt—nope. There will be no perving on the man. He wasn’t interested the night we returned home from school, and I’m not one of those guys that keeps barking up a tree just for sport. I know what it’s like to have someone banging on the door of the closet I wasn’t ready to open.
Everyone mingles together like the created family they are. Even the newer members of Cerberus laugh and joke as if they’ve been a part of this elite group their entire lives.
Kincaid, the president of the Cerberus MC, and the other original members have a way of selecting the best men and women to join their ranks. Their rigorous vetting process ensures that they will each be the perfect fit.
Even sad, sexy Boomer is dragged into the fold on occasion. His smiles are genuine, the subtle creases at the corners of his eyes proof that the man isn’t exactly opposed to being happy. The dark stubble on his jaw speaks of—
I shake my head, forcing my attention elsewhere. My attraction to the man is purely physical, and that is something I’ve always been able to control. There’s only ever been one man who fried my brain and made me act without thinking.
“Perving on Boomer again?”
Speaking of the demonic entity…
“What do you want?” I snap, once again lifting my soda to hide the irritated snarl of my lips.
“Making nice,” Landon says with a quick shrug of his shoulders. “It would be weird if I saw my best friend across the room and didn’t come say hi.”
I snort at his use of the words best friend. They’ve been used many times over the years since the flame of that friendship turned to ash, but for some reason, it annoys me on a visceral level today.
“I hate it here,” I confess before thinking.