Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 129881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 649(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 649(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
“Okay. It’s either Good Shepherd on East Twenty-Second Street or St. Matthew’s on East Thirty-Fourth. He told me it was in the middle of town and those are both in the middle. It’s gotta be one of those.”
I sprint back inside the house to grab my shoes.
“I’ll head to Good Shepherd first,” CJ says, and I can hear a car engine starting. “Thank you, Felix.”
“I’ll go straight to St. Matthew’s. Just let me know if you find him.”
I hit the second floor.
“You should probably stay there. You don’t know—”
“Don’t fucking tell me what to do, man,” I snap. “I love him. I’m going.”
I hang up on CJ as I step into my worn boots, ignoring how they pinch my feet since there are no socks around me and I don’t have time to hunt for a pair, and on my way back down the steps, I try calling Jake.
The call goes straight to voice mail, and I can’t feel my fingers anymore. My hands are going numb.
“He’s okay, he’s okay,” I pant, and I’m patting my pockets and looking around the kitchen for what, I don’t know, because I don’t have car keys anymore, do I, and I told CJ I’d help look for Jake and how the fuck am I supposed to do that without a car?
Dear Dad,
I hate you more than ever, you fucking piece of shit.
Then someone knocks at the door, and I know, I just know it’s Jake because we’ll be okay, we promised each other.
I swing the door open and my heart breaks in half.
It’s two guys I don’t know, and they’re wearing matching work shirts and balancing a mattress between them, and I’ve never been more frustrated and confused in my life.
“Delivery for Felix?” the one with the backward hat says. His smile is lopsided.
And I say, “What?” because I didn’t order a new mattress. I haven’t had time to.
“I didn’t order a mattress.”
The other guy holds up an invoice and shoves it in my face. “Order was placed by a Jake Tully. Gave us this address for delivery. See for yourself.”
I take the invoice from him and blink through teary eyes as I quickly read the order for a brand-new king-size mattress with memory foam topper (he wants to make memories in this bed together oh god my fucking heart). And Jake’s signature at the bottom is so chaotic and cute, I think I might get it tattooed somewhere.
“Where do you want this?” backward hat guy asks, drawing my head up.
“Uh.” I step sideways and look at the stairs. “Last bedroom on the left? Thanks. Thank you.”
They carry the mattress inside and head for the stairs, and they’re halfway up, grunting and joking around about who’s lifting higher, and I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, but then I peer out the front door and notice their delivery truck backed up in front of the house with the engine still running.
And I wonder if certain felonies can be overlooked.
Fuck it.
I drop the invoice and run.
I call up Dean on the way to St. Matthew’s because I’ll need him, I know I will, but I can’t know for sure if he’s meeting me there or even hearing me at all, because this truck is a manual and I’ve never driven a stick in my life, and when the call connected I chucked the phone onto the passenger seat so I could shift into a higher gear way later than I should’ve.
And I can’t believe I just stole a truck.
Like father, like son, I guess.
I stall three fucking times and absolutely burn out the clutch, there’s no doubt in my mind I am so bad at this. And it takes me close to twenty minutes until I see the blue and white sign for St. Matthew’s Methodist church and the old, stone building home to believers who don’t believe in providing snacks to addicts (not the time, Felix), and I take the corner on two wheels and cut a sharp left into the parking lot located in the back, where I spot Jake’s car.
And Jake, sitting inside it.
“Jake!” I scream as I jump out of the truck, and I hit the ground running.
I realize I leave my phone on the seat, but I can’t go back for it once I reach Jake’s car, because I can see him now, head tipped back and mouth open and eyes closed with a bottle of something in his lap.
It looks like vodka, and he won’t answer me no matter how loud I scream.
I wrench the door open and yank him out of the car and onto the pavement, yelling, “Jake! Jake! Fuck! NoNoNoNoNo! Fuck, please! Hold on, okay!”
I lay him flat on his back and wipe light brown powder off his nose and what the fuck is this, and there’s foam in the corners of his mouth.