Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 57216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
“Me,” he said. “I have a few fake IDs for situations where I want to make sure no one can track me. Since this whole situation is a little sticky right now, I wanted to be safe. So I booked the rooms under one of those names.”
“You don’t think they’re going to follow us to New York State, do you?”
“No,” he said, sounding certain. “I’m just layering on protection for the fuck of it. I don’t want you worried.”
“I trust you,” I told him.
How could I not?
When the biker dude with the sweet tooth told everyone to get down, Junior hadn’t just dropped to the ground. He dove over that counter, and threw himself over me.
That was the kind of man you could put your life in the hands of.
“How’s Willie Nelson doing?” he asked, jerking his head toward the backseat.
Barry, it seemed, could not handle his edibles.
He’d been high as hell the first hour of the drive.
Then he’d passed out cold and had barely stirred since.
We’d actually pulled over on the side of the road, so we could readjust him to a more comfortable position since he’d been resting on his bad arm.
I really did feel bad about him getting grazed. Even if it wasn’t my fault, per se.
I probably would have felt less guilty if it had been Junior or one of the bikers who’d gotten shot, since they were made of, you know, tougher stuff. But poor Barry was not cut out for drive-by and bullet grazes.
I hoped when the edibles wore off he was feeling better.
But, I guess, that was why we were driving over four hours out of Navesink Bank. To make it up to him.
“What?” Junior asked, making me turn to find him watching me.
“I was just thinking that it feels wrong, but I’m kind of excited about this,” I admitted.
“Why would it be wrong?”
“With everything going on,” I said, shrugging as I pulled open my bag of Fritos.
“Just ‘cause shit is going on doesn’t mean you can’t still find things that bring you some joy,” he said, brushing off my concerns.
“You’re probably more of an expert in this sort of thing,” I admitted.
“I am. Now how far are we from the hotel?” he asked, nodding toward his phone in my hand.
His phone whose passcode I now knew. And he’d given it to me so freely, not seeming to care if I snooped through his apps and picture folders. I didn’t, of course, but it said something about a man when they didn’t give a shit about the possibility of you doing so.
“Ah… fifteen minutes,” I said as I looked at the directions.
“Any stores near it?” he asked as he put the car in drive again.
“It looks like there is a town like ten minutes out that has a few chain stores. Why?”
“We are all gonna need snow boots, gloves, that sort of shit.”
“Oh, right. Yeah. I mean, Barry is all set, but I don’t have anything but my coat.
“Barry is probably going to insist on buying a jacket that has heaters built in,” Junior said, rolling his eyes.
“So, when are we going to tell him?”
“I figure in the morning. Gotta get him in his room and settled first. Let him sleep this off. Then we can tell him over breakfast, hit the store, then go to the farm.”
“We are heading right back after, right? We’ll have to get the tree in water.”
“Yeah. And while you’re on there, go order a tree stand, skirt, lights, that kinda shit. Gonna need it when we get back.”
“What is your opinion on white versus multicolor lights?” I asked as I found his shopping app, and started adding things to his cart.
“My ma said Christmas is meant to look like joy threw up in your house. So… color.”
“On that, we agree,” I decided, adding lights to the cart. “And it matches the theme Barry already has going on.”
I spent the rest of the drive adding ornaments and such to his cart with reckless abandon before going to the cart and seeing the total.
“What?”
“What what?” I asked.
“You’re gnawing on your lower lip,” he said.
“Oh, I’m just trying to figure out which stuff to order and what to take out of the cart,” I told him.
“Just order it all.”
“No way,” I said. I was sure I could get the total down while still having a tree that looked decorated when we were done.
“You’re a pain in the fucking ass,” he said. Then his hand shot out so fast that I couldn’t react. He slipped the phone out of my grasp, tapped a few times to check out, then handed the phone back to me.
“That was too much money,” I insisted.
“It wasn’t,” he said. “Now where is the turn I need to take?” he asked.
Getting Barry up and functioning when we got to the hotel was fun. But by the time we got to check in, he was mostly functioning, if very sleepy.