Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 66511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
“You ready, Ducky?” Emma asked.
Beat down, he didn’t say a word about the undiscussed training class and only nodded again. Skye, a part owner in StreamTrainer, worked out their elite users. She kicked everyone’s ass. She’d absolutely go harder on him just to make for a better class.
“Four, three…”
The fake smile on his face dimmed as the script appeared on the screen. On the silent count of one, he started to read aloud.
“I’m Duncan Reigns, everyone calls me Ducky, and I’m here with Buzzfeed to read some thirst tweets…” His gaze skidded to Sara. What the hell? Sexy tweets about him? The anxiety he thought he’d conquered rushed forward. His cheeks warmed as he looked directly into the camera and ad-libbed. “You guys are gonna have to wish me luck on this one. Jeez.”
“Chad…” His mother, Teri Reeves, said from across her kitchen table. The tone she used spoke of her growing impatience.
He knew every inch of this kitchen by heart. They had spent more time in this room, talking as a family, than in any other room inside his childhood home.
His thoughts were so lost that he didn’t immediately look at her. It wasn’t that he didn’t hear her frustration, he did. He always heard everything she said. For whatever reason, his mother was the guiding voice inside his head, whether he liked it or not. But while in the internal throes of the pity party of his life, this despondent approach had become his new norm.
“Darling, if we’re going to have lunch, then let’s have lunch.” She spoke in the motherly tone of utter patience when she really had none. “If you’re going to fiddle with your great-grandmother’s figurines, then I’m going to call this done and get back to work.” She folded her napkin and placed it on the table beside her plate but didn’t budge from her seat.
She was bluffing. They both knew it.
What she did have was a tight schedule. She’d been generous with her time today, fitting him in for a quick lunch. But if he kept dawdling like this, what held the most risk to him was getting wrangled into picking up Cara, his littlest half sister, from elementary school. He fought the shiver racing up his spine at the horror of that awful school pickup line.
That reminder motivated him enough to finally head in the direction of the kitchen table. His mother had prepared her favorite lunch meal and what she believed to be his favorite too. Tuna salad. Her recipe had bite-size pieces of fruit mixed with Miracle Whip—her secret ingredient. One that Chad could do without.
“You’re being a sad sack, my favorite son. And you have been for several days now. You’re bringing my mood down.”
He ignored everything but the obvious and playfully glared at her. “I’m your only son, Mom.”
The tease worked as her napkin went to her lap again. She reached for her fork and took a big bite of the salad. “Mmm…”
He took his seat, and did the same, taking a hearty bite. He reached for the mango-flavored unsweet iced tea.
“Cate told me you’re the most hated villain on social media these days. You know that’s not the real world, right?” she said and lifted her eyes, staring directly at him before taking another bite. That was the thing about having parents who pioneered the development of social media, he’d always been taught to keep the viral world at a distance.
Now that Secret by Wilder had been dragged into the mess he’d caused, Chad wondered if all the negative press might now matter more. It didn’t. Not to anyone in their family, including Tristan. Social media was a make-believe land. A place that didn’t really exist or hold true merit. Designed only to keep up with family and friends.
“I remember, Mom.” Chad placed the fork down, his stomach turning at the idea of eating more food. All the engrained manners his mother instilled into him as a child rose to the surface, at least while he was inside her home. He lifted the napkin to his lips as he got to his feet again, needing the movement.
His appetite had gone to shit. He was losing weight and quite possibly losing his mind. A restlessness coursed through his veins. Teri took the bite on her fork with her gaze following him as he moved. “I don’t think the world could hate me more than I hate myself. What’s happening to me, Mom?”
She chewed quickly. Alarm replaced the patience she usually held while dealing with him.
“Wait. That was dramatic. I didn’t literally mean I hate myself so get that look off your face. I’m fine, I guess.” The explanation didn’t come as easy as all the self-loathing. He went back to the chair, pulling it out farther from the table and plopping down in the seat. He propped his elbows on his knees. His head hung as he stared at the tiled floor. “I don’t want to golf anymore.”