Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 118459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 474(@250wpm)___ 395(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 474(@250wpm)___ 395(@300wpm)
I hope he’s wrong.
Last night was a little awkward.
The sheets from the guest bed are heaped in the middle of the floor. She’s remaking the bed, and the room smells like Lysol.
“What are you doing?” I ask, leaning against the doorframe.
“Making the bed.”
“Those sheets were clean.”
She smiles sheepishly. “I know. I’m sure. I just . . . I thought maybe Ever would be more comfortable on sheets of ours?”
“You know, I’m not a dirt ball, Jules. Lysol-ing the mattress wasn’t really necessary.”
“I know. I’m sure. I mean, I know you aren’t dirty.” She forces a nervous a laugh and gathers the sheets. “I’ll put these in the washer.”
She walks by me and, a few minutes later, I find her washing down the kitchen counters.
I kept telling myself that it was just because it was their first night here, but I still had a raw feeling in the pit of my stomach. It was like I was some fucking stranger. She doesn’t seem to trust anything about the situation—my cleanliness, or my temperament.
Our interaction was anything but comfortable. I honestly thought she was expecting me to laugh and tell her I was only kidding about the whole thing. No matter what I did, I couldn’t get her to relax. Even Ever’s enthusiasm about living with me didn’t seem to take her edge off. I know she’s worried about what sort of sign this gives Ever, but I think she’s overreacting.
It was early when they went to bed in the spare room and I didn’t see them before I left for work this morning. I left Ever a piece of taffy hidden under her coloring book on the table.
“Where are they now?” Will asks, looking around.
“Ever is at Olivia’s for a little while. Jules didn’t want her to go but Ever begged. And I sent Jules to the grocery store. I told her I’d go, but she started telling me what Everleigh liked. It just seemed easier to give her the money and let her buy the shit.”
“You’re more of a man than me,” he says, shrugging.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“You’re taking on a whole family, man. That’s a lot of responsibility.” He presses his lips together. “You just gave a chick cash and sent her on her way. That’s—”
“If you don’t understand this, then just get the fuck out.”
He holds his hands in front of him. “Relax. I’m just saying that what you’re doing is . . . a good thing. Not something a lot of guys in their twenties are gonna do.”
I’m ready to tear into him when my phone rings. I cast him a look before heading into the living room. The phone is buzzing on the coffee table.
“Yeah?” I ask, knowing it’s Jordyn.
“Hey, Crew. There’s a guy in here looking for you.”
“Where? The bar?”
“Yeah. He says he’s from the news station Boston 15 and wants to talk to you about your fight in here last week.”
“Tell him to fuck off.”
The line gets grainy and when she comes back on, her voice is quieter. “Crew, I think this is important. He has a suit on in the middle of the fucking bar. This isn’t a suit-wearing establishment.”
“He’s probably some old fucker that wants to talk about fighting. This Davidson fight has everyone all riled up and my name in the news now over that stupid bar fight has made people yap. I have nothing to say to him, J.”
“All right,” she sighs and I hang up.
Hanging my head, I try to not let myself go there, to the place of what might have been. Back to the time when I got calls from scouts and agents, all wanting a piece of the soon-to-be-famous Crew Gentry.
I thought I’d finally made peace with the way things had turned out for me. I’ve tried to look at it like fate. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to be in the NAFL, and wasn’t meant to have a huge contract. Normally I can go on about my day and not think about it, but with all the shit happening right now with Davidson and that fucking bar fight, it’s been harder not to. Just thinking back to when those things were discussed, when they seemed like such a reality, makes me so damn bitter I can barely function.
And I don’t have time for that now.
I know it’s gonna be hard to ignore for the next few months with Hunter’s next fight in Boston. Shit like our ties, the location, and the history makes people want to speculate. I’m not sure what guys like this fucking reporter want me to say.
“Yeah, assholes, I know what happened. I know who he is now and I’m keenly fucking aware of what I could’ve been, too. Yup, still workin’ the dock. Fighting in bars. Go fuck yourself.”