Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 133180 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133180 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
“No. These aren’t excuses. They’re facts. But we can move on from back there, right? You keep saying that you don’t want to dwell on old shit that can’t be erased or changed.”
“That’s right.” Bishop wiped the sweat dripping down his throat and into his damp collar.
“Then why can’t me and you start anew? It’s not too late.” Mike glanced down at his boots, scrubbing the toe across the dry grass. He looked worn out, a defeated expression crossing his intense features. It was like staring in a mirror sometimes. Bishop hated that downtrodden expression. Didn’t like it on a face that looked so much like his own. His father had been waiting right there for him when he’d stepped out of that prison. He hadn’t expected to see him, and he sure didn’t expect him to come up and hug him and say, “I’m glad you’re out, son. Let’s go home.”
Bishop had almost keeled over from shock, and the questions raced through his mind too fast to answer them all. What home? Back to the projects? Hell no. And did he just call me son? Mike had never called him that. It was always, ‘lil homie’, ‘boy’, or ‘runt’, or even ‘annoying little twerp’. But never son. His dad had been adamant about Bishop not making him sound old by calling him Dad. They were roll dogs, bros. When he’d reached a growth spurt at twelve and shot up to almost his dad’s height, it wasn’t long before people started asking how they were related. It was one of their best kept secrets. And now that he was thirty-two, Mike wanted to switch names and roles.
“Whad’ya say, man? Maybe we can even try some fishing or camping, or some shit. I don’t know. At least that’s what I heard fathers and sons are supposed to do to bond.”
“‘Bond’?” Bishop frowned.
Mike slammed his hat onto his head and retreated a couple of steps at the indignation in Bishop’s voice. “Dammit, Bishop. Can’t you see I’m trying? I was a shit dad, all right, and it got my kid tossed in jail for five years. I’m just trying to make sure it doesn’t happen again. Now that we’re both away from that life we can do whatever we want. Maybe keep building this landscaping business together?”
Bishop stared in the other direction, contemplating as he saw the crew heading back across the road with loaded, greasy bags of burgers and large drinks. He heard Mike curse under his breath before he began walking away.
“All right,” Bishop called out. Mike’s head was hanging low and his shoulders slumped in defeat. Ugggh. This time, Bishop left out the bite when he said the name Mike wanted to hear. When he called him a title he’d yet to earn. “Okay, Dad. Sure, why not? Let’s go fishing on Sunday, no camping. I’m not about to get lost in the woods with you.”
Mike double-stepped it over to him, a large grin splitting his rugged face. The only way to really tell them apart was by their beards. Mike’s was thicker, bushier, while Bishop kept his cut close, stubbly. “Okay. Yeah.” Mike frowned and rubbed his hand along his jaw. “You know how to fish?”
Bishop rolled his eyes, feeling a slight smile forming. “No. You suggested it.”
Mike reared back and laughed, suddenly looking carefree and elated. Bishop wondered if that was how he’d sound if he ever laughed out loud. “Well it can’t be that difficult to figure out. We’ll wing it.”
Bishop nodded, his mouth forming a tight line.
“Smile sometimes, B. It’s all right.”
“I will when I have something to smile about.”
His dad sounded almost heartbroken for him. And that better not be pity he was noticing. He didn’t need anyone’s sympathy.
“Here, Bishop. I got you two chicken club salads. They were out of that other one,” Trent said as he brushed past them, moving towards the shade of a tree. He dropped to the ground and placed Bishop’s food next to him. Trent tore into his first burger and shoved some fries into his mouth before he glanced up at them. “Manny has your food, boss.”
“Thanks, Trent.” Mike returned his hard eyes to Bishop. “So, I’ll see you home after your job tonight?”
“For a bit,” Bishop said.
Mike shuffled awkwardly for a moment before he reached over and clamped Bishop on his shoulder then patted it couple of times. Bishop glanced down at the spot where his dad held him, which made him yank his hand away. “Um, yeah. See you… I mean enjoy your lunch.”
Bishop did smirk for real. Their exchange was so weird and clumsy that it could only be funny.
He and Trent had been eating their lunch in silence when he asked. “What was all that about? Did you tell him about the fight last night?”