Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Even if he is telling me the saddest, most emotional story without so much as showing a single emotion.
“What are you going to do then? If you don’t go back.”
“I don’t rightly know.”
I can’t help it. I look at the pile. “Maybe you shouldn’t donate all of it. Maybe you should keep a little bit as a contingency until you figure it out.”
“Sweetheart, there’s billions. It’s from shares I was left with.”
I can’t help it. This time, I do drop the plates. My sandwich goes flying, and the plates clatter to the hardwood, though neither of them smash. They’re built thick and heavy. If anything, I probably just damaged the floor.
“O–oh.” I do a mad scramble to scoop up the plates.
I don’t know what to do with myself. I don’t know what to say. I’ve never met anyone who doesn’t give a shit about this kind of thing. I’ve never met a billionaire before. Gah, I’m in a marriage of convenience with one.
Holy ball sacks.
I straighten up slowly, gripping the heavy, indestructible plates. I’m a mess. I want to cry for Rick and then he just dropped that bombshell on me right after the first one. “Can I get you another sandwich?” He’s going to say no. That first one was huge. He obviously wants to get back to purging this house of all the bad memories. Of the things that the man who was supposed to love him chose over opening his heart and doing just that.
“Sure, yeah. It was good.” He walks over and traces the arm of a statue. It looks like one of those fancy-draped goddesses. It could be old. With money like that, it could be thousands of years old. My hands start shaking. I don’t want to drop the plates again. He doesn’t look at me, but something in the room has changed. There’s a weird new energy in here with us and the mountain of stuff that could be worth millions. “Can you fry it this time?”
“In the deep fryer?”
He nods. “Like a grilled cheese.”
“Oh. Yes. My mom used to do that. I was debating about it. I don’t have any chocolate sauce for dipping, though. I also make an equally good grilled sandwich with jam and cream cheese. Kind of like a bush pie but raunchier. And by raunchier, I mean just a shade not as good, but still amazing. I bought cream cheese and jam. I could make one.”
“Both? If you wouldn’t mind?”
I know what a difference the little things can make. I’m not going to go around the house and pull things off the walls or hurtle them out of corners to make them gone. That’s for Rick to do. It might sound weird, but I think he needs this to make peace and heal. I can’t do that, and I can’t offer words either because that’s not what he needs. But sandwiches? Darn it, I can make a mean sandwich.
Sometimes, showing someone you care is as simple as feeding them. “I don’t mind at all.”
Chapter seven
Rick
Ahhh, night. So peaceful and quiet. Stars and moonlight, romanticism, mystical, lovely dark night.
Yeah fucking right.
Night hasn’t been a thing of beauty for me in a long time. Not sure it ever was. I do remember a time as a kid when I was scared of it. Scared of the dark, scared of my own endless thoughts that would never shut off. I guess in that way, I haven’t changed much. A lot of tactical shit is carried out at night when you’re in the military. Then there was Special Forces, and yeah, not a lot of sleeping happened, especially not in the dark. Dark is a cover. A mask. The dark hides so much.
Peaceful?
No, I don’t find it peaceful.
I’m a shit sleeper at best. I only need a few hours here and there, which I usually get in the very early hours of the morning. Mission complete. Mission over. Or in the late hours of the afternoon. Before go time.
Now, there is no go time anymore. No more missions.
However, I still can’t sleep.
There aren’t any stars in the city. There’s too much smog and light pollution. The city isn’t quiet or peaceful. There are always cars. Always people up. People like me. People who don’t use the cover of dark for rest. They work, they play, and they carry out their whole lives in the dark.
I boil the kettle, then let the water sit for a few minutes to cool off until it’s at the perfect temperature. I can tell just by looking at it. I’m good at counting down the minutes with my internal clock. It used to be used for missions. In places where a mistake could be fatal. And where an extra minute or even a few extra seconds gone wrong could cost a life. No lives tonight, though. Just coffee.