Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 70515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Everyone knew.
Clem knew. Trista knew. Boston knew.
His entire family knew.
The gym knew.
Taos knew.
Everyone who was anyone in my life knew.
And none of them gave a flying fuck about our age difference, or how I’d practically grown up right alongside his daughter.
“It’s final, Sophia,” he growled, his eyes blazing. “You’re not going back to work there.”
I clenched my teeth.
Before I could argue anymore, he snatched his keys off the table and stormed out of the house.
And I found out a few minutes later, via text from my boss, that I’d been relieved from work with pay for a half a year.
Somehow, I knew that my man was responsible for that.
Even worse, I knew that he thought he was doing me a favor by making sure that I had money.
Which didn’t matter to me.
I had plenty of money.
Being the beneficiary of Jasper’s will, I had more than enough to live comfortably for a while.
Not to mention my dad was still putting money into my savings account each week, like he’d been doing since he had his first job.
Needless to say, I didn’t need the fucking money.
What I wanted was to live my life outside of this fucking house, with a man that didn’t treat me like a child, but an equal.
I went to the gym, very aware of how Taos never let me out of his sight, and again, I wanted someone to tell me what in the fuck was going on.
Yet, nobody did.
I went home later that night after filing paperwork all day, drove by my old house because I was wondering if my father was there—he wasn’t— and then went to the store to pick up food.
Once back at Haggard’s place, I cooked food for six, making sure to make Haggard’s favorite since I knew he liked it so much, and even made extra so Boston and Haggard could have extras.
Only, Haggard didn’t come home for dinner like I was expecting.
Nor did Boston or Clem—Clem, I at least understood. She was mad at her dad.
But not nearly as mad as I was.
At least with Clem, he didn’t get her fired.
Gritting my teeth, I served myself some food and sat at the table, drowning in my morose thoughts.
If Jasper were here, he’d have eaten with me. This particular meal—chicken bacon ranch—was one of his favorites, too.
He’d talked about it all the time, to the point where I made it once a week and made sure to always have leftovers he could heat up while at work.
I ate my food in silence, then left the rest of the food on the stove for him to eat by himself.
Only, when I came down two and a half hours later, the food was still on the stove where I’d left it.
I narrowed my eyes and glared at the food I’d baked especially for him.
His favorite fucking dinner.
Then I glared harder at the peanut butter and jelly that was still on the counter, as well as the bag of bread that had been left open next to it.
The tipping point was the dirty knife on the counter with peanut butter and jelly smearing the counter.
“You asshole,” I grumbled, stomping my way to the oven and reaching above it for a leftover container.
I knew the asshole was home and saw the food.
Gritting my teeth, I started to put it all away.
Once I had it all stuffed into the containers, I went out of my way to go to the outside fridge and put them away behind his beer so he couldn’t find them.
Then, for good measure, I went to Clem’s bed and locked the door so he couldn’t come in.
I then lay there for an hour and a half while I fumed, listening to him grumbling about this and that, as well as try my door once.
I glared at the door handle, knowing he could get in if he wanted to.
Apparently, he didn’t want to.
And I growled and threw the covers over myself angrily before reaching over and switching off the light.
I dreamed of him.
Which had me more pissed off when I woke up that morning.
Not to mention I had a headache, which didn’t bode well for my long day of doing fucking nothing, seeing as I didn’t have a job to go to anymore.
I got up and was unsurprised to see the kitchen torn apart. It looked like someone had gone out of their way to look for food.
I smirked.
I wasn’t quiet as I made my way through the house.
I also wasn’t very nice.
I turned on every single light there was to turn on, angrily washed the dishes, and made sure to run the disposal extra long.
When I was done and found him sleeping on the couch instead of our bed, I went outside and took the leftovers out of the fridge and stuffed them in my ‘monstrosity of a purse.’