Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 69018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
“On the way here, I saw a fight, so I stopped to break it up.”
I pause while cutting the tomatoes. “I thought you weren’t supposed to do things like that.” For the very obvious reason that you might get sliced and diced for your help.
“Never break up a fight,” he agrees. “But I’m experienced.”
“You still got hurt,” I murmur.
He doesn’t look up as his hands keep tucking the kit back together. “It’s only a scratch.”
“I told you not to say that!” I realize I’m waving a knife at him quite menacingly, so I quickly drop it, even though it’s nowhere close.
“It was two older boys. No more than thirteen or fourteen. Gang shit. I know because after they saw the blood, the one who’d done it tried to run, but I was fast. I caught him. He was very worried I was going to call the police, but I got him calmed down. He grudgingly told me that he was living in foster care, and it was not a good situation. He needs the money, so he’s doing some stuff for some unsavory people, and some other unsavory people didn’t really like it, but he was going to deal with it on his own.”
“I’m so sorry.” My heart more than hurts. It’s going to break wide open. Both for those poor kids and for this man, who was once in the position of supporting his family when he was basically a kid himself.
“The kid admitted he was hungry and afraid to go back to his foster home. He wasn’t even close to aging out. When I asked him, he said he was sixteen but then admitted he was fourteen, as I suspected. I made a few calls. My team was on it and on it fast. He’s being moved right now. I didn’t want to give him back to social services, but when a new caseworker arrived, I made sure he had my number to call if anything went wrong again. They’re going to find him an excellent and caring placement this time or have me to deal with. I know not all kids are so lucky. Most of them aren’t. I can throw money at the problem all I want, but it’s not going to change because it’s not going to fix a broken system. Regardless, I want to help where I can.”
“You did all that while you were bleeding out?” I whisper, my stomach clenched so tight that I feel like it’s been corseted from the inside out with one of those antique, serious business corsets.
“Bleeding out is a strong word.”
“It’s two words,” I point out.
“Very strong words, then. I was bleeding, but not a dangerous amount.”
“And then you drove yourself here? Clear across the city?”
“I did, yes. I was in no danger of passing out. If I felt lightheaded, I would have pulled over immediately. I know the limits of my body. They’ve unfortunately been tested a few times, and Pissgate has nothing on it.”
I get his sandwich assembled even though I’m sweating, my hands are shaking, and I feel like I might pass out, all while my chest is going to burst and shatter and get messy.
“Did you…did you come here just to give me that check?” I know he didn’t, but I don’t know how to ask him any other way.
I don’t know how to tell him that I want him to come back for me. That I’m sorry. That I’ve spent so much freaking time thinking about him, wanting to call him, wishing, missing, more wishing, more missing, and regretting, aching, longing, and wanting.
It’s funny how something can seem absolutely like the right move at the moment but become so fuzzy and hazy and not right in the aftermath of real life. But forcing something that might be only a fraction right at the wrong time would only ruin the beauty of it.
“No. I have a backpack in the car. Let me go and get it.”
“Are you crazy? Sit right there and don’t move. I can’t risk you bleeding out,” I exclaim.
“Not going to happen.”
I fist my hands on my hips, knowing full well how ironic it is. “Are you always this stubborn?”
“I put the pigheaded in pigheaded and the mulish in mulish.”
I barely hold it together. This is not the time to laugh. “You know that’s not how that saying works, right?”
“I’ll amend. I put the stubborn in stubborn ass.”
That does it. There’s an air explosion that sounds like a balloon deflating, and I break into giggles. “That’s not funny!” I gasp.
“Your laughter would indicate otherwise.”
“Let me go get…the backpack.” I have to gasp for breath in the middle of that sentence.
“I circled around a few times and wasn’t sure where to park, so I took up one of the guest spots at the start of the block. By the convenience store. I love this place, by the way. It has a great vibe. I’m glad you chose it.”