Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 80689 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80689 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
He finally makes eye contact, an evil smirk playing across his lips. “Why? Is that how you feel?”
I don’t even know how to respond to that, but he doesn’t give me time.
“That’s not what I was suggesting at all, Ryan. You don’t want him to leave because the poor guy needs the money. He’s in dire straits. Lien on his house. Sick sister. I offered to cover the lien for him, and 10K can go a long way for the summer. Maybe help take care of some past-due medical bills.”
“Sick sister?” I don’t try to hide my suspicion.
“Acute lymphoblastic leukemia.”
If that’s true, I feel like a dick for how I treated the guy. Although, I’m not convinced this isn’t all some wild fabrication crafted by my brother. I’d be a fool to believe it without evidence.
“She’s endured intense treatments since she was a child. They thought things were going well until this past year, but then it came back a few months after her eighteenth birthday. Unfortunately, the center where she was being treated can’t continue to work with her now that she’s not a minor anymore. But if you really want, I’ll demand he leave at once, and he, his aunt, and his sickly sister can go back to fending for themselves.”
He brushes my shoulder as he walks by me like he’s on his way to dismiss Jonas immediately.
“Wait,” I say, hating myself for even considering this BS might be true.
I struggle with my thoughts, but Simon’s footsteps stopped before I even spoke, surely knowing how I’d react.
“Why did you mention an aunt?”
“Because they lost their parents. Their father when they were younger, and their mother a few years ago.”
The news knots in my chest, and I don’t doubt Simon brought this up as a final blow. I’m tempted to ask for specifics but stop myself. What good could come of knowing the sordid details of this poor man’s past?
“Do you have proof that what you’re saying about his sister is true?” I turn to him, and Simon winces.
“You mean, you don’t believe me? You don’t trust me?”
No, I don’t. “I want to make sure you haven’t been deceived,” is my wise reply, which I doubt he believes, but it satisfies him enough to retrieve his cell from his back pocket. He approaches and displays a Facebook profile.
I peruse it, seeing that face—that goddamn face. There are multiple images of this guy with a girl in the hospital. Even an attached GoFundMe page that hasn’t raised more than two grand to cover insurance or out-of-pocket expenses.
I wouldn’t put it past Simon to go to all the trouble to fabricate a story, but it’s plausible enough to keep me from standing my ground, which I’m sure is exactly what Simon hoped for.
If I’m wrong, I can’t find out I’ve deprived this guy and his family of the help they need.
“Maybe you could just give him the money,” I suggest. “You have more than enough.”
“You think I’m not being charitable? Why don’t you ask Morgan and Forsyth how much they’re making this summer? Certainly not ten grand. I’m sorry if you disagree with how I choose to help the guy, but that’s not my problem.”
I hate how good Simon is at dancing around the issue.
“You know why I don’t want him here. And you know why you asked that man here, and it has nothing to do with his sick sister.”
Simon’s gaze meets mine, and he approaches, stopping just inches away. I can feel his breath against my lips.
“If he’s a problem or just not any good at yard work, say the word, Ryan, and I’ll fire and evict him from Hawthorne Heights. How does that sound?”
I know better than to trust Simon. Even if that came to pass, he’d make up an excuse, a new reason that Jonas must stay, because clearly, he has something on his mind.
“So he can stay?” Simon asks, maybe to give the impression that I have some say in this. That once I concede, this is now something I’m doing to myself. It reminds me of when we were kids and he would slap me with my own hand and shout, “Stop hitting yourself! Stop hitting yourself!”
God, he’s loving this.
I should tell him no. I should insist—demand—that Jonas leave immediately and that Simon give the guy the cash. Hell, if I had access to all the useless money in our estate, I’d give Jonas what he needed to take care of his sister for life.
But Simon has other plans, and as much as I don’t want that ghost in this house, a part of me wants to know what this is all about.
“He can stay.” My words are a whisper, which makes the corners of Simon’s mouth perk up.
“I think you’ll like working with him, big bro,” he says, leaning toward me and offering a gentle kiss against my lips, the sort that stirs fury within me.