Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 70554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
“How about I season?” She sassily slides around his frame, forcing him to switch places with her, putting him closer to me. “And you crack the eggs?”
“You got it.”
“You wanna crack the eggs?” There’s no hesitation for me to move the carton out of his reach. “You actually fucking talk to me.”
“Oh, you mean like you talk to me?”
“I do talk to you.”
“When I ask something. When I accidentally discover shit. But never…never do you just…fucking…talk to me,” The Kid growls in an unfamiliar tone. “You keep secrets. And your fucking secrets have secrets. And those secrets have a past. And the only person who knows any of that shit – besides you – is the man you claim doesn’t mean to you nearly as much as he fucking does.”
“Kid-”
“And that’s fucking fine, Nolan. I get it. You have friends outside of me. I have friends outside of you. You have a life outside of me. I have a life outside of you. You have an identity outside of me. And I have one outside of you. But wanna know what the big fucking difference is?” His palms land flat on the table. “My hood is always and has always been popped for you.”
Shame lands mercilessly on my shoulders.
“You know everything and anything you want. When you want. And me? I can’t even get you to unlatch the fucking thing until you decide it’s fucking necessary.”
Additional guilt spreads along my back.
“And everything is about when you decide and why you decide and how you decide and I’m so fucking sick of feeling like I’m a full-sized fucking spare to be kept in the trunk until I’m absolutely needed.”
Regret rolls the length of my spine.
“I’m done.” He defiantly states during an intimidating lean forward. “I’m done waiting in the dark. Done burning tread. Done roaring my engine for someone who clearly doesn’t want me for anything more than fucking show.” His chin kicks to the object I’m holding. “Eggs.”
Despite my somewhat shaky grip I slide the object back in his direction only for Rabbit to intervene by snatching it away herself. “No.”
Surprise hits us both as we face her.
“I didn’t get to run away when shit got hard, so you don’t get to call it a race because the shit storm is a little hard to manage.”
Kipp attempts to defend himself, “But-”
“No.” She cradles the carton to her stomach. “There’s a very real possibility that we are about to bring a baby into this relationship, meaning we need to all get out of the red, and into the black. Together.”
Fuck, I still can’t believe she might be pregnant.
Alright.
Fine.
I can believe it.
We bang like bunnies.
Pun intended.
But it’s never been a scare I’ve had before.
Dono if that’s because I’ve got slow swimmers or just good luck.
What I do know is if she’s got a bun in that oven, it’s ours.
All. Of. Ours.
And I’m gonna fucking love it until I take my last breath.
The way a parent fucking should.
The way I never got.
“You’re right,” Rabbit continues, eyes locked with our boyfriend. “You shouldn’t be left in the dark, Kipp. And you shouldn’t have to beg for information-”
“Thank you.”
“However,” she boldly snips, “have you ever fucking considered that it’s not about keeping shit from you so much as protecting himself? Protecting himself from the past he left. From whatever it is he escaped? From the things that haunt him? Have you ever fucking considered that maybe…just maybe…I’m not the only one around here who reinvented themself to save themself?”
“You want a popped hood?” I quietly inquire to The Kid who doesn’t bother looking my way. “Fine.”
At that, he glances over.
“My old man had alcohol and anger issues. And he took that shit out on us. Daily. My mom and older sister, Millie, got the worst of it because they didn’t fight back. They were easy targets for whatever set him off for the day. Out of milk. Stubbed his toe. Lost a sports bet. Got a pay cut at work. Whenever something shit on his mood, he physically took it out on them. They were his marks. I wasn’t as often because I refused to just take his shit. From the first hit I can remember, I swung back. With toy trucks. And bats. And eventually bottles. And pans. I fucking brawled. When I was in that house…and so was he…I fucking fought.”
His entire body angles itself to better receive the information.
“For them. For me. One day after school, I came home to find Millie hopping on the back of her boyfriend’s bike. She didn’t say shit. She just offered me a sympathetic smile and bailed.”
A small flash of compassion crosses his face.
“That was the last I ever saw and heard from her. Mom never searched. Never asked about her. Never even said her name again. And my old man? Erased her from existence. Tossed her shit in the garbage. Tried to set some of it on fire. Drunkenly ripped up photos.” Removing my wallet from my back pocket is effortlessly executed. “I have one picture of her.” I yank it out from the spot behind my license and toss it on the table for him to see. “And you know why? Because Garcia’s mom had taken it at some holiday party, and he printed it for me.”