Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 46881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
“No problem, tell him to pick up his girl, that way I can bring mine and she wouldn’t have to drive her.”
I only raised my brow at that one, but said nothing. Seems I’d been missing a lot these last few days of being hidden away.
I hung up with Shane and walked over to the bed. I climbed on and leaned over her.
“Hey baby, I wasn’t too rough was I?” A soft slow smile started to form on her lips and spread. She stretched and opened her eyes, her arms going up and around my neck.
“You were superb as usual.”
“Heard that did you?” I hugged her to me, reveling in the fact that I was actually holding her again.
It was going to take some time I guess, to get back to normal. I knew that for some, the ending was never this good, and I will be eternally grateful that ours was.
“I invited the guys over to play some b-ball. You want to call your girls? You can hang by the pool and catch some rays.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“Yeah well you’re not doing anything but lying in the cabana. No swimming, you can’t get your bandages wet.”
“Yes doctor, can I read or is that not allowed?”
“Funny.”
“Seriously Jace, mom asked me if you were taking care of me and I told her I maybe would’ve stood a better chance in the hospital.
At least there I could’ve got someone to sneak me stuff, or let me leave my room at least. You’re like the head warden at a maximum security prison.”
“You’re getting better faster aren’t you? Now up, it’s time for your therapy session then breakfast.”
“Fine, lead the way.” I had to pick her lazy ass up and take her to the exercise room where the balls and other shit the doctor had recommended for her recovery waited.
***
Over breakfast, which we shared with mom and dad, I told her about my wayward friend Track. Kevin Track is the son of a very wealthy African American prospector of all things.
The Tracks are what I call one of America’s little feel good stories; one of the only, if not the only family of color to have any kind of foothold in the oil industry.
His family has as rich a history as any I’d ever seen and sitting around listening to his grandpa tell stories was always a treat.
The family had moved out here when Track had run through all the schools in his burg. His dad thought the change of scenery not to mention the pace, was just what his son needed.
This last stunt proved that it didn’t matter where he lived, Track was going to be Track. It’s not that he’s a bad seed or anything like that, far from it.
Track is a fun loving teen same as the rest of us, he just has a more volatile personality I guess you can say. And a healthy dose of honor and loyalty for those he perceives to be his friends.
He’s one of those guys that you know you’ll know for life, and in a good fucking way. I’d learned since we were kids though that it was a lost cause getting between him and his sense of justice.
This was about the third time in the last two years that his dad had dragged him off somewhere to some kind of anger management camp. They never worked but old man Track kept trying.
Beyond that, the fucker was highly intelligent, like Mensa smart, but he never held that over us Hollywood freaks, as he’s so fond of calling us.
“So what did he do this time?” Sian cut in in the middle of my recitation.
Dad laughed out loud because he knew the story as well as I did.
“Chad I wish you wouldn’t laugh at these boys’ exploits it only encourages them.” Mom scolded him but her lips were twitching as well.
“I know, but you’ve got to admit, that shit was funny.”
“Well, what’d he do?” She looked from one to the other of us impatiently.
“He socked coach in the mouth during our last game of the season. It was a home game in front of a stadium full of people who all saw it, since Track wasn’t trying to hide it.”
“He, what, why?”
“I’m not sure, if I remember correctly he said it was because coach was being more of an asshole than usual.” Come to think of it that shit was funny.
For the next half hour or so I told her old tales of my friend. It was nice to hear her laugh, even nicer to have something else to think about other than the attack.
***
I had her set up outside by the pool with everything she could possibly need by the time I heard the first car pull up.
Marisa had a spread prepared to feed an army and I had a cooler full of juice and soft drinks sitting in ice. “You need anything else from inside before the others get here?”
“Nope, I think you brought half the bedroom down here. Are you sure I need this blanket?”
“Yes.” I fixed it around her legs the way I wanted it. “The doctor said not to let you get a chill.”
“Jace, this is California, it’s about ninety degrees outside, I’m pretty sure there isn’t a chill to be had for miles.”
“Very funny, you keep this on or it’s back inside with you.”
“Get a grip.” I ignored the eye roll and the grumbles as I stood to meet our first guest.
It looked like Shane had invited the whole team minus a few undesirables, which was fine by me.
“Where’s Track?”
“Said he’d get here on his own.”
“Uh, isn’t his license suspended or some shit?”
“I think his old man got that cleared up, or knowing Track he just decided to say ‘fuck it’.”
Yeah the last was more like it.
Just then we heard DMX Rough Riders or Track’s theme song as it’s known around here, blasting down the drive.
It seems like everyone stopped what they were doing and all eyes were turned to the side of the house where he would appear. And boy did he appear.