Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 90098 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90098 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
I chewed around a mouthful of lasagna. “Banana?”
He let out a breath and trailed closer. “I…maybe. My stomach’s still unsettled.” He sat down a couple feet away and draped the covers around his shoulders. “Now I know what Coke looks like when it comes up.”
Intriguing.
“It looks like Coke,” he finished.
I grinned.
“I think I drank too fast,” he admitted.
He didn’t even look at the lasagna; he seemed way more interested in getting more sleep, and I couldn’t blame him.
I jerked my chin over my shoulder. “Go to bed. I’m right behind you.”
He hesitated and glanced toward the front door. “Are you sure you don’t want me to—”
“Are you fucking serious right now?”
Could he quit rejecting me? It fucking hurt.
My evident irritation made him furrow his brow at me.
“I just don’t wanna be in the way. You can’t honestly get pissy about that.”
“Try me.” I scowled and shoveled more food into my mouth. “Where you’re concerned, I can get pissy about anything.”
Against my better judgment, I wanted him to stay. More than that, I wanted him to want to stay. Was that too much to ask?
He sighed and reached for his water bottle. “It seems I keep making the wrong call about you.” He uncapped the bottle and cleared his throat. “I’ve been staying in the alley a few times a week because I wanna see you.”
A few times a week.
That was too many nights in the cold, in the rain, and before that, in the snow.
Because I wanna see you…
Just not approach me? He wanted to watch from a safe distance?
Correction: he didn’t wanna be a bother.
What was it he’d written in the letter…? My energy was better placed with others.
Idiot.
I had to be blunt.
I set down my plate and pulled up a leg to face him better. “Can you stay? Without fucking off in the morning.”
He swallowed and nodded minutely. “If that’s what you want.”
Oh, for fuck’s— “What do you want?”
His jaw ticked with tension. “I want you next to me, of course.”
There was nothing “of course” about that. One of the reasons his letter had fucked me up so much was that he’d claimed one thing and acted as if the opposite were true. He’d told me I’d gotten him attached, and then he’d just left. He’d implied spending that time with me had been a dream, right before he’d jumped back into his own nightmare.
I wanted that nightmare to end.
I…I wanted the dream back, and I realized I hadn’t told him this. Not that he’d given me a chance to; I’d had my rude awakening in the days following his disappearance.
“You finally said the right thing,” I muttered. “But just so you know, you leaving never became a relief. It only pissed me off, until I realized I was so angry because it hurt.”
He frowned to himself and scratched at the label on the water bottle. “I never wanted to hurt you.” Yeah, he’d said that in his letter too. “Hell, the opposite—I…” He released a breath, deflating. “I’m sorry, kid.”
Kid.
We’d work on that.
“From now on, I’ll be in your life for as long as you want me to,” he added. “Friends?”
We had a lot to work on.
Come on, friends?
And his self-esteem…
“Sure. Friends,” I said.
What exactly did he mean by friends?
I was going to show him.
For some bizarre reason, he wanted me in his life, so I was gonna make sure I earned my spot.
Never in a million years had I thought he’d be upset with me for so long just because I’d left.
I should be questioning his taste in friends.
Friends…
Fucking hell. I’d set myself up for heartbreak now, hadn’t I? But he was worth it. Despite that it was difficult to believe my actions had caused harm, I’d never thought I’d speak to him again, much less share a bed.
Part of me was desperate to hope, though. Starting my new job on Monday would make me feel like a human again, and I could finally contribute properly. So…I’d be here. I’d help whenever I could. I’d be his friend.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Trace Kalecki
He should be back by now, shouldn’t he?
Even though we’d officially exchanged numbers, I couldn’t shake the fear that he’d split.
“Unca Trace, look at me!”
I looked over to the main dining area, where Chip was currently doing cartwheels between the tables.
“You don’t even pretend to be sick, chipster,” I told him.
He jumped up and bobbed his head to the music. “I swear my tummy hurts!”
Uh-huh. Sarah was just a sucker. He liked his kindergarten just fine, same with his babysitter, but none of them came close to Uncle Trace. And I couldn’t blame him. I was awesome. I let him run wild in the restaurant while I treated the bar area as my unboxing station for soup kitchen supplies.
Since we were closed on Mondays, I used the day to catch up on paperwork—as in, send that shit to Ma—and prepare for this week’s soup kitchen services. The floor was flooded with the hygiene kits we were restocking, and I’d do the energy kits next.