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 asked him about fighting again. He gave me a fighter’s response and said he wouldn’t turn down a fight. I pressed further, asking if he thought he could take Hunter Davidson again. He was more curious if Hunter Davidson could handle him again.
Before meeting Gentry, I would’ve thought it was crazy to even consider such a thing. But after seeing him, feeling his energy, my money’s on Crew.
Calls and messages are starting to pour in. A good sign in one respect, because it meant the article was being shared and talked about. A bad sign in another because the attention was not from the right people, and it was only adding to the fraying of my nerves.
I see Jordyn’s number and pick it up. “What’s up?”
“Hey, Crew. You home?”
“Yeah. Just got out of the shower.”
“I’m like two streets over. Can I drop by?”
“Nah, ya better not.”
“Okay,” she says. “You coming by the bar tonight?”
“Nope. Listen, things are kinda busy for me right now. So I won’t be around much.”
The line goes quiet for a moment. “Fine. You seeing someone else?”
“It’s not like that.”
“It never is.” She sighs. “You know what? Don’t worry about it. Just don’t come chasing me when you’re done with whoever it is.”
“I don’t even chase my fucking liquor, J.”
“Whatever. Bye.”
I end the call and look at myself again. It’s a Friday night. I’ve just turned down free pussy and I’m not going to the bar.
Who the hell am I?
“Crew?” Julia’s says from the other side of the door. Her voice is quiet, tired, but has that underlying edge of determination that it always does.
Hearing her voice saying my name reminds me of the man I was, the man I am, and the man I’m determined to become. She gives me a reason to want to do better.
“Yeah?”
“Dinner’s ready, if you’re hungry.” This is why I’m home right now. For those two girls.
I shake my head at myself in the mirror.
She is a fighter. Take fucking notes.
TWENTY-FOUR
JULIA
The moments tick by, each breath advancing us forward to Monday morning.
I rinse the last breakfast plate before putting it into the dishwasher. Over my shoulder, I see Crew and Ever on the couch watching cartoons. In the middle of this hell I’m living in, a world of diagnosis, vitamins, antibiotics, unknowns, denials, and uncertainty, the scene in front of me gives me something to hold on to.
I’ve toyed all day with when to tell Ever what’s going on. At first, I was going to wait until Sunday to tell her, figuring it would give her the least amount of time to worry about it. Then I thought maybe it’d be easier for her to know now and have all day today and tomorrow to ask us questions and get comfortable with the idea.
My stomach aches with dread. I’m sure an ulcer is forming. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. I just go from motion to motion, looking at the clock. Even that is a source of anxiety. I don’t want to see Monday get any closer; I don’t want to witness such horrid things happening to my baby. Yet again, each day that passes is a day that she’s not getting treatment. I just pray the doctors know what they’re doing.
“We need all our ducks in a row, Mrs. Gentry. We need all the lab work back and time to call in a team to study it. This is what we do, and we want your daughter to be as strong as possible when it’s time for treatment. Trust us.”
I trust no one.
I dry my hands on a dishtowel and gather my courage. “Crew? Can you come here for a minute?”
He looks up and his eyebrows pull together. He pats Ever on the head and walks toward me. He stops a few steps away.
“I was thinking . . .” I know once we do this, there is no going back. It has to be done, but I’m terrified to do it. I don’t want to see her scared. I don’t want to see her cry. “Maybe we should tell her tonight. Give her a couple of days to think about it. Ask questions. Before we have to show up and start everything.”
“Yeah,” he says gruffly. He nods, like he’s still coming to terms with the idea and stands taller. He pulls me in to his chest and I let him. I need this moment of reassurance that I’m not going through this alone. Maybe it makes me weak to need him, but damn it, I do.
The warmth of his embrace, the hardness of his body, the scent of his skin that I remember well, begins to fill up that part of me that seems empty. The part of me that I rely on for strength.
Pulling back, he brushes a strand of hair out of my eyes. “Ready?”