Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 111676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
“Is it actually a stomach ulcer, or is that just their best guess when you won’t get the tests?”
He let out an exasperated sigh. “Jade, I told you, I don’t need all those expensive tests. I’ll be fine.”
I was exasperated, too. I’d had this argument with him a hundred times over the past two years, but since he’d lost his job and had no insurance, he refused to go into debt for what he said was “nothing.” One look at him was all I needed to know that it was more than a stomach ulcer.
A stomach ulcer wouldn’t reduce my father to the shadow of a man he once was. But as far as he was concerned, his issue was being unable to find a job. Never mind that he’d had—and been sacked from—two jobs since his workplace of twenty years let him go.
The thought that kept me up at night was that Dad knew there was something very wrong, and he didn’t want to leave my mom with medical debt if he died. I didn’t want to admit the possibility of my dad dying, though, not even to myself. So, I pushed away the thought that plagued me every night and chatted with him like we always had. All the while, pretending the sight of him didn’t break my heart.
Twenty
Wolf
Zepp and Hendrix’s house, like most of the houses in Dayton, looked like it should be condemned. A few boarded-up windows, peeling paint, and a sagging porch I was surprised hadn’t collapsed under the weight of all the parties.
I parked in the drive behind Monroe’s beat-up piece of crap and got out. Muggy heat wrapped around me, as did the distant wail of sirens. A sense of nostalgia settled over me. Dayton may have been a shithole, but it was my shithole. Home when I no longer really had one…
The front door swung open to the sight of Hendrix sprinting down the hall and ducking into the living room. “Get your stumpy ass in here and play this game with me,” he shouted over electronic gunfire.
“Well, hey to you, too, asshole,” I mumbled, closing the door and heading into the living room.
Hendrix sat hunched over on the couch, tongue out in concentration, and his fingers going wild over the controller. “I swear to God, this cocksucker here has a death wish.” Another barrage of gunfire rang through the speakers. “I’ll fuck your mom’s corpse.”
Shaking my head, I sank onto the ratty couch beside him and snagged the spare controller from the coffee table. “You know that player could be a twelve-year-old kid.”
“Yeah, well…” The buttons on the controller clicked. “He’s a cock of a twelve-year-old then.”
“Get off the game, dipshit.”
Huffing, he shot the other player in the face before glancing at me. “You look stumpier than the last time I saw you.”
“And you look more inbred. Shut the fuck up, dickhead, and play the game.”
The distant thud of a headboard carried down the stairs, and Hendrix groaned. “I hate when she comes to visit. That’s all I hear.” He grabbed the remote and turned up the TV to drown out Monroe’s moans.
“Lola lives with you. That’s probably all Zepp hears day in and day out.”
“It’s different. Lola doesn’t scream like a hyena. She’s more like a…”
I blocked out the rest of what he said. I didn’t want to know any of the information he was spewing. “Shut up and play the game.”
An hour later, I’d beaten Hendrix at every game, and he was pitching a holy fit.
He scooted to the edge of the tattered cushion, his fingers flying over the controller as the pop of electronic gunfire rang through the TV speakers. “I’m gonna murder your ass.” Blood splattered the screen. “That’s right!” He chucked the controller down and shot up, grabbing his crotch with a victorious grin. “Suck my balls, stumpy ass!”
“You only made that shot because of your spastic fingers.”
“Don’t be a sore loser, Wolf. I’m a motherfucking wizard.”
Just before a new game started, my phone pinged on the coffee table. Mrs. Seaton had sent a picture of Dog sleeping on her recliner.
Hendrix leaned his nosy ass over, reading over the text. “Who the hell is Mrs. Seaton?”
“She’s the lady who watches Dog.” I shot off a response, then resumed the game.
“Getting you a little cougar action?” He nudged my side, and it took everything in me not to punch him.
“She’s eighty-five years old.”
“Senior cougar, excuse me.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“You’re the one who was all up in Miss Smith’s musty-dusty-muff buffet.”
“Fuck off.”
Miss Smith was one of our high school teachers. She flirted with half of the guys, and Hendrix had been convinced I’d hooked up with her. I hadn’t. I’d just let his demented head run wild for my own entertainment.
“Better option than Weirdo.”
When I looked away from the screen to glare at him, he took the opportunity to blow my avatar’s head off.