Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 95906 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 480(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95906 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 480(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
My head began to pound just like it always did when we started back to the house. The possibility of running into Con, even for however brief a moment, still put me on edge even after a few days. Since he wasn’t talking to me, I’d had to figure things out on my own when it came to my duties. I’d found some cleaning supplies in the house and while the home had seemed relatively clean upon first inspection, I’d started to realize that it was in sore need of a deep clean. Things like the curtains and tops of cabinets were covered in thick layers of dust and the entire house had a stale feeling to it… like it hadn’t been exposed to fresh air in a long time. It also had a very outdated feel to it. The furnishings and décor had to be at least thirty years old and there was nothing of Con in the home. His Manhattan apartment had been beautifully furnished, modern and comfortably lived in. The house in Nevada just felt… empty.
Over the past few days, the kids and I had started tackling some of the bigger cleaning projects. Additionally, I’d done my best to give the kids some educational stuff to do on their tablets and computers so that when it came time to get them enrolled in school in whatever place we ended up, they wouldn’t be too far behind.
If Con had noticed my efforts to hold up my end of the deal with the cooking and cleaning, he hadn’t said anything. He did his running and workout each morning and upon returning, he’d get cleaned up and then lock himself away in a room that I assumed he was using for an office. He never ate with us, and I wasn’t even sure if he ate any of the meals I left him in the oven or microwave each night.
I told myself I didn’t care either way but come morning, it was all I could do not to check the garbage to see if he’d tossed the food or not.
Once we reached the house, I sent Rory and Christopher to clean up while I got dinner going. Fortunately, I’d already made a game plan for dinner, so I went straight for the pantry to get what I needed. The large walk-in style closet just off the kitchen was fully stocked with canned foods and dry goods like cereal, noodles, rice, and pancake mix. Since Con had ordered groceries before our flight had touched down so we could pick them up on the way to the house, I knew that the well-stocked pantry had been that way long before we’d arrived. I’d just assumed it meant Con visited the house more often than not but as I’d explored the contents further, I’d noticed that much of the food was geared toward children. Many of the canned soups and pastas were the ones with shapes or letters that were meant to entice a child to eat. The cereal was the same. Out of the ten or fifteen unopened boxes, the majority were the colorful, sugary cereals that most kids loved.
I’d wanted to ask Con about it but the whole not talking thing made that impossible. Maybe the man had kids in his family? He’d mentioned brothers but I didn’t recall hearing anything about children. On the other hand, Con was a natural when it came to interacting with children, so he could quite possibly have a large family. Or maybe he was the one with the sweet tooth. It certainly didn’t seem so from his body, but maybe he came here after a fight and just ate crap. Brady had always had this weird thing about sucking on lollipops after a fight. It didn’t matter how beaten up his face was, the first thing he’d reach for after taking a swig of water and spitting out the blood in his mouth was a root beer flavored Dum Dum. He’d go through a pack of the cheap lollipops every day until it was time to start training for the next fight. Who knew, maybe Con did the same thing?
Thoughts of Brady had me stilling in the process of reaching for a box of noodles. But they weren’t good thoughts. It wasn’t some random memory of Brady taking me to a Mets game or us talking about our Alaska plans while he worked on his beloved 1979 Trans Am. No, it was a memory of the Brady who’d stopped being the brother I’d known and loved with everything I was.
You think I’m half a man, you little shit? I’m still twice the man you are!
As Brady’s cruel words rang in my ears, I could actually feel his strong fingers closing around my throat. I couldn’t remember what I’d said that had set him off, but I had no problem remembering the rage in his cold eyes.