Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 76881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
“Okay, but see, this is my house. And you're filling my backyard with glass. Maybe you don’t see the problem with that, but I got a kid now. Thirteen might be a little past the running around in the grass stage, but still, I feel like I should probably care about safety or some shit.” She doesn't say anything more, just sits there quietly and sips her beer, letting me talk or not talk.
My first thought is to get up and go somewhere else, but I stay. I guess company is okay.
“Sorry.” I look at her quickly and then away. She doesn't say anything, just takes another sip. “Am I making a mistake? Is there anything I could've done?”
She still doesn't answer, not until I actually turn and give her a meaningful look. She doesn't know me or my situation from a hole in the ground, but she's here. “Oh, you're talking to me? I thought those were rhetorical questions.”
I shake my head, just getting annoyed now. Not sure what I was expecting.
She snorts a little laugh. “Sorry. General always said I was too much of a wiseass for my own good. But I’m not a mind reader or a fortune teller. I don’t know shit about your situation. Yes, you’re probably fucking something up. And also yes, you probably could have done something. Did that help?”
I roll my eyes. “No. Nothing personal, but you suck for advice.”
She laughs, like really laughs now, deep in her belly. “Honey, you’re asking advice from an old bike chick who’s probably made more mistakes since breakfast than you have in your entire life so far. You’re just young and too far up your own ass to see it.”
I twist the cap off the second bottle, but when I'm about to take a sip, she reaches out and grabs my wrist. “Wait, I have a better idea. You need a distraction, and I'd really fucking prefer you didn't litter my whole backyard.”
With a sigh, I pull my hand back. “I won't throw it.”
“Let’s start this over.” She holds her hand out. “Name's Bonnie. My whole life was being General’s old lady, and now I’m trying to figure out who the fuck I am without him, so I know a thing or two about wanting to smash shit.”
“I’m sorry. I’m not usually like this, but lately it feels like everything I do gets someone hurt.” I shake my head. “Now my uncle is dead and I don’t even know how to feel about it because he got me into this mess and now more people might get hurt. Including me.”
She nods. “Family. Yeah, family’s a pile of shit in a gift bag sometimes. But the good thing is you can always say fuck it and choose a new one. Mine sucked, too, but fate threw me in with these bastards. You could do worse than the Outlaw Sons. They fuck shit up sometimes but they mostly mean well, and honestly? That’s the most anyone can ask for.”
“What about ice cream?”
Her laugh carries the weight of a lifetime of difficult emotions. “Now you sound like Anne, my sort of kid. Come with me. We’ll blow off steam, and then I’ll see if I can find you ice cream. I might have something in the freezer if Anne and Jessica haven’t robbed me dry.”
“What are we going to do? I shouldn’t go anywhere without telling the guys.”
“Relax. Not outside the walls. Just come. Unless you’re having more fun sitting here feeling sorry for yourself?” She pushes herself up to her feet with a grunt. “Jesus, I have to stop sitting down so low. Don't turn fifty, girl. All fucking downhill from here.” It doesn't stop her from holding out her hand to pull me to my feet, though. Honestly, she looks way stronger than me and by the easy way she yanks me up, she proves it. I wouldn't take her on even if she's more than twice my age.
She takes me around the back of the compound behind the school. A couple of guys wave, but when one starts to approach, she shoos him off. “Girl time. We'll talk later.” As we round the corner, there's a… gun range? They’ve set up a whole thing back here with marked up lanes, targets, a covered shooting area.
“What are we doing here?” I look at Bonnie in confusion. “Shooting? I've never touched a gun in my life.”
“Then it's time. You don’t have to love ‘em, or even like ‘em, but anyone who can’t at least operate a firearm around here can be a liability when shit hits the fan. Besides, this is as close as we get to therapy.”
We're the only ones here right now. She pulls me towards the railing that separates the shooters from the field and pulls a gun from her belt that she puts down on the tray attached to the fence, then a handful of ammunition. “I'm gonna give you some quick lessons on handling this bad boy, and then you're gonna take all that ‘getting glass in poor Bonnie’s yard’ anger and put it to good use.”