Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 57888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
“Are you okay, miss?” the nurse asks, having seen me.
“Yeah, but my dad?”
“They are about to start casting his leg up now. You can come on back to see him.” She nods for us to follow her. Bam keeps his arm around me until we get to my dad’s room.
“I’ll wait out here.”
“No, you won’t.” I shake my head. “You’re family, Bam. We both go in.”
“All right,” he says, giving me one of his half smiles that always warms me from the inside out.
“Dad!” I say when I spot him, rushing over to give him a hug. I have to fight not to burst into tears. I knew he’d be okay, but it’s all still very raw. I squeeze him extra hard, knowing today’s outcome could have been a lot different for all of us.
“You trying to break some more of my bones?” he says, placing a kiss on top of my head. “I’m fine, kiddo. I’m a tough old man, going to take a lot more than a broken leg to keep me down.”
“Guess this means you’ll be home with me for a while,” I tease him, stepping back so that they can start to cast his leg. There is only one other chair in the room. Bam sits down in it, pulling me into his lap. It’s the first time I’ve been able to relax, knowing that both Bam and my dad are okay. That we all made it out of that crazy situation with minor injuries. I lie back against Bam, and my eyes fall closed.
It’s short-lived though. They snap back open when an alarm starts to sound. The nurse in our room books it out, and I see two cops run past. I’m on my feet now, wide awake.
“Rebel.” Bam’s tone is filled with warning, like he’s going to spank me. Ope, that doesn’t sound terrible, actually, but that is for another day.
“I have to peek. I can’t help myself.”
“She really can’t,” my dad says with a dopey smile. Those pain meds must be fully kicking in now.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell him when another cop runs past. Bam stands. “You can’t come; you’re all giant and noticeable.”
“I’m following you either way, so—” He shrugs.
“I would threaten to tie you to that chair because I know how to after today, but you two don’t care for my dark humor, so off we go!” I spin around, rushing out of the room.
It’s not difficult to see where the action is happening. I hurry down and notice that while everyone is now hovering outside of a room, it has gone quiet. I pretend I’m simply walking by, but one of the cops that had been lingering in the waiting area sees me. I hurry my last few steps to get a peek into the room.
“Oh shit.” I turn back around, running into Bam. “Abort,” I tell him, pushing on his chest. Bam takes a couple of steps back before his hand wraps around my wrist, and he leads me back toward my father’s room.
“What was it?”
“Oh, now you want the news.”
“I’ve been working on a whole-ass story with you for weeks.”
“Right.”
“What’s going on?” Dad asks.
“Cole’s dad went to go meet that maker he wouldn’t shut up about.” They both stare at me, not understanding. “He killed himself.” I hadn’t realized they’d brought him here, but maybe they wanted to check him over and test for drugs, but I’m pretty sure he’s just straight, old-fashioned crazy on his own.
“Fucking coward,” my dad mutters, lifting his hand and turning it back and forth like he’s trying to count his fingers or figure out if it’s connected to him. Lightweight.
“Sucks no one will get their justice, but it will make our lives a hell of a lot easier,” Bam says. I know he means as far as the cops go. The less we have to deal with them, especially Bam, the better.
The victims too won’t have to tell this story a million times and in a courtroom. It might not be the outcome everyone hoped for, but it might be for the best for everyone. It’s over; not sure we can ask for much more.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
BAM
“Idon’t think that footing is even,” calls Abe lazily from his lawn chair in the shade just under the back door. He lifts his beer and points the top of the bottle to the post I just dropped in.
I swipe my forearm across my face to wipe away the sweat before bending down and retrieving the level. Construction is new to me, and despite being active before, I’m using body parts I didn’t know I had. This type of manual labor is hard as hell. I respect any man—or woman—doing this for a living. In the past five days, I’ve used a backhoe to dig up and level the backyard, a compactor to make sure the ground was firm, and a post hole digger to create clean, deep circular pits in the ground for the footings. After I get these massive logs level, I’ll fill the cavity around them with cement. When that’s done, I can start building the floor. I’m excited to work on the actual structure, so even though I’m grumbling while I eye the level, I want to get it right. I can’t have the floor of my new place being off-kilter.