Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 120186 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120186 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
It’s like she knew I was in distress and needed her. I smile and type out a response, hitting Send right away.
Me: Yes, we do. Want to meet at The Rusty Nail? I could use a drink.
Saint: Yes! Meet you there at seven.
At seven? I check the time on my phone. Shit, that’s in an hour. I type out my response, hit Send, and then rush into the bathroom. I sort through my emotions while I shower.
Kade isn’t my brother, at least by relation. I’m adopted. Which means Kade is the rightful heir to the Porter dynasty, and in that case, he should be the one marrying Jackson, right? I’ve only solved a small portion of my problems. Now I have to find a way to escape this arranged marriage because telling Jackson I don’t want to marry him isn’t good enough. My mother will not accept that. What I need is for Jackson to be fed up with me and embarrassed enough to call off the wedding altogether. And I’m in enough of a mood tonight to potentially make that happen. But that’s secondary to a night with my best friend.
Something in me lightens because I need this. God, do I need this.
Chapter 12
Kade
It’s been a week since I was arrested at The Rusty Nail. I’ve been a good boy, steering clear of the place only because Calder and Sawyer begged me not to go back. Levi doesn’t give a shit one way or the other. He doesn’t care about much of anything lately. Fucked if he would talk to me or any of us about it, though. Then again, who am I to bust his balls for keeping his mouth shut? It’s not like I share my feelings, either.
But it’s been an entire week, and I’m bored out of my fucking mind. It isn’t that I miss the world and need to be part of it. I just need to do something, anything, other than sit around and replay ugly memories. A good drink will do it. Or two.
And drinking alone is a bad sign. Even I know that. It’s much better to drink in public, with all the other desperate drunks trying to escape reality for a while. I guess that’s all any of us wants. An escape.
It’s not like I walked into the bar last week looking for a fight. It found me. What was I supposed to do, let some asshole slice me open? No fucking way.
I slide into a clean pair of jeans and a worn flannel, then throw my jacket over the top. It takes me a minute to find my boots, which is another bad sign. I should be out there on the ranch helping Calder. Instead, I’ve been holed up at the main house doing nothing but wallowing.
Now that I have a plan in mind, though, a fresh wave of energy courses through me.
Energy I’ve been lacking ever since my visit to the Porters.
Not something I want to think about.
Every time I do, I see the utter shock on Allie’s face. I might as well have ripped her heart out of her chest while it was still beating and eaten it right in front of her.
She hurt me, yeah, but I crushed her. I ground her down under my heel and kept going even when I knew it was too far. I’m Roman’s son, after all.
Yeah, I need a drink. A whole fucking bottle.
The floral arrangements are still sitting by the front door as I head into the foyer. I wish someone would throw them away.
Keeping them here is a joke. I refuse to believe a single person in this house misses him, including the staff. He was a monster. A tyrant. Shouldn’t we be allowed to move on?
I kick a few of them aside. “Somebody throw this shit away,” I call out. My voice echoes, and the sound follows me until I step outside and close the door behind me.
The ride to the bar is quick. There isn’t much traffic on the road tonight. They’re calling for snow later, and most people hunker down for the squalls we sometimes get. The parking lot is full regardless.
They, like me, don’t give a shit about a few snowflakes. It definitely smells like snow once I step out of my truck. Ozone and a hint of sweetness. I swallow hard to shut out thoughts of Allie and head toward the door, dodging a pile of puke just off the exit.
Raucous noise hits me before I’m even inside. I don’t think there are any major games tonight. This isn’t a sports bar, either, so what gives?
Whatever’s going on in there has everybody losing their shit. Fine by me. I wouldn’t mind losing myself to it. Let the noise pull me under along with the whiskey.