Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 73192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
I looked away. “I’m really fucking mad at you, but…”
***
Three hours later, after getting out of my shift at work and making sure that I had everything covered, I made the drive to Bear Bottom.
I wasn’t sure what I’d find when I got there, but Rome throwing up on the side of the road wasn’t one of them.
There was a man in the same leather vest that Rome had on his own back standing next to him, glaring at me and telling me without words that I needed to get the fuck away.
I didn’t listen to his glare and instead kept my eyes trained on Rome.
He heard my motorcycle coming and still he didn’t get up off his knees.
And that was when I realized what I’d done.
I’d fucked up.
I’d left my best friend to fight something on his own and all because I’d been too butthurt over a woman—a woman that I knew first hand was just as devious as she was beautiful.
Goddammit.
Pulling my bike over to the side of the road, I ignored the man giving me the death glare and stopped my bike well behind the puke spray.
“Why is it you always throw up on the side of the road?” I asked, sounding a lot more laidback than I actually was.
Rome paused in his throwing up and he turned to stare at me.
He had puke running down his beard and his eyes were absolutely haunted.
“The last time you did this, we almost got hit by a bus,” I pointed out just as an eighteen-wheeler passed us, making sure to honk as he did.
I flinched at the sound, Rome and the guy beside him both flipped the trucker off.
I snorted.
Rome came to his feet and he stared at me warily as he got the leftover puke out of his beard by wiping the bottom of his shirt over it.
“So, I heard that you talked to my girl,” I murmured.
It took me an hour to get from Hostel to Bear Bottom. And thirty minutes to convince Reagan that she was better off studying her weeds than coming with me.
She hadn’t been happy about my weeds comment, but when she realized that I needed to do this on my own, she relented.
Then she’d told me that she was going to work on manners with her dog—who was still fucking nameless despite it being weeks—and told me that she did have a little work to do.
After giving her a quick, hard kiss on the mouth, I’d ridden out and had come straight here, but I hadn’t even made it fully into the town before I’d spotted him.
Now, he was staring at me like I was an apparition.
He swallowed. “My boy might die.”
That’s when I walked up to Rome and threw my arms around him, bringing his big body into mine.
Rome inhaled and it sounded like the breath was yanked straight from his soul. It was full of tears, anger, and heartache.
“I don’t know what I’m going to fucking do,” he whispered.
I closed my eyes and felt sick to my stomach.
“Where is he?”
“Home.”
“Let’s go see him.”
Rome squeezed me tighter. “He’d like that.”
I closed my eyes and didn’t once hesitate.
“Let’s go, Rome.”
Rome let me go and he took a step back.
The man that was behind him like a silent sentinel nodded his head at me.
“Tyler, this is Josiah.” Rome sounded like he’d gargled with gravel and then chased it down with a fifth of whiskey. “Better known as Liner.”
I offered him my hand. “Tyler.”
Josiah aka ‘Liner’ took my extended hand and gave me a nod. “Nice to finally fucking meet you.”
My lips twitched.
But I wasn’t laughing a goddamn bit ten minutes later when Rome made his way into a nice house on the outskirts of Bear Bottom.
At first it was because Tara was there, looking mad as hell. Then it was because on the couch, as far away from Tara as the boy could be while still being in the same fuckin’ room, was a little boy who already owned a piece of my heart just because of who his father was.
The little boy’s eyes moved up to meet mine and what I read in them instantly made tears spring to my eyes.
I was a grown man.
I dealt with hardened criminals on a daily basis.
I’d served in Iraq and Afghanistan and I’d seen some really fuckin’ awful things.
But seeing this little boy, this sick, drained and tired little boy, giving me Rome’s smile was enough to shatter my entire fuckin’ heart.
“Matias,” the boy, my little namesake, said. “I’ve been wondering when I would get to meet you.”
I swallowed hard. “I’m sorry it took me so long.”
Rome’s son smiled at me. “It’s not too late.”
I had a feeling that not only did he understand the double entendre, but he meant to use it, too.
This little boy looked so much like Rome that it hurt and he was wise well beyond his few years.