Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 69004 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69004 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
“You’re a softy; you just can’t admit it.”
“Fuck you! Bite your tongue, Oliver Hayes. I’m hanging up on you now.”
He laughed when Miles did just that. Oliver set his phone on the bedside table, rolled over and tried to go to sleep.
CHAPTER NINE
Matt’s parents went to church every Sunday morning. When he was younger, the only time they missed a week was if one of them was able to pick up an extra shift at work. His mom always said God was more important than money, but God also wouldn’t have given them the chance to support their family a little better on a Sunday morning if he hadn’t meant for them to take it.
Despite the fact that Matt gave them money, they still lived in the same small, two-bedroom house he’d grown up in. They’d been able to fix it up a bit but, “What did they know about living anywhere different?”
That had been his dad’s bit of wisdom. The difference now was they could afford to get something new when they needed it. They didn’t have to take the bus…and his mom didn’t have to pick up extra shifts on Sunday or any other day for that matter. She still worked because that was how she rolled, but she could work her regular hours just like everyone else. And she also didn’t have to work two jobs anymore, which meant she wasn’t employed by Oliver’s parents any longer.
Matt sat in a rental car in front of the old, white cement house, knowing his parents would be back any minute. He’d gotten up early this morning, not surprised to see Oliver was already awake as well. The man had always been an early riser. Now he woke up early to write, he’d told Matt, but he hadn’t gone into his office this morning. He’d taken Matt downtown so he could rent a car, so he could sit in it and be fucking weak as he dreaded going inside again.
Jesus, he felt like such a bastard sometimes. He wanted to believe most people were just like him, only they didn’t admit their selfishness quite as easily as he did, but hell, that just might be him trying to make himself feel better.
Loud music played in the background, getting closer and closer before a tricked-out car drove past, with bass so hard Matt’s windows rattled. As the car pulled by, he saw a silver Toyota heading in his direction. He knew the car. He’d helped his parents get it nearly two years before—which honestly, had been like pulling fucking teeth. It hadn’t been brand new, his parents insisted on that, and even then it had taken a whole hell of a lot of work for him to get them to take it.
Matt understood that, though. It was that exact reason he’d left LA. He didn’t want to depend on someone else. He wanted to succeed on his own.
He watched as the car slowly pulled into the driveway. Watched as his mom got out of the driver’s seat. She was a short woman—skinny with brown hair that matched Matt’s, which she always kept in a bun. He got the shape of his lean body from her.
She opened the passenger door for his dad, who was a burly man. He stood a good foot taller than his mom. Matt was closer to his dad’s height, but that was where the similarities ended between them. He had a beard, as he always did. Blond hair, dark eyes, and even now when he pushed himself out of the car using a cane, his chest and arms were hard to miss. Maybe it was all the years of hard work or just that he’d been born with burly DNA, but he definitely hadn’t passed it on to Matt.
There was a deep ache in his chest as he watched his dad hobble on the cane. He was too young to need it, but years of manual labor and injuries he never reported and worked through had come back to haunt him.
He’d been devastated when he had to stop working. Felt like they’d stolen his manhood, he’d told Matt. Men were supposed to work hard, were supposed to support their family. It was the only time in his life he remembered thinking his dad might cry.
He hadn’t, of course. Rusty Daniels didn’t cry, but it had been close. Matt used to feel guilty when he’d cry as a child. Not because his father would harass him for it but because he could see the confusion that was always in his dark eyes. See the detachment, the wall that was between them because his dad just couldn’t understand why Matt was so different from him. He didn’t doubt there was disappointment too.
“Fuck,” he gritted beneath his breath. Why the hell did he do this to himself? He was who he was, and his dad was who he was, and neither of them could change it.