Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 93453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
“Hello.” I put the phone to my ear.
“Did your brother talk to you?” he mumbles, and I laugh. It’s been a rough six months; he’s getting weaker as the days go by. Even he had to admit that he needed part-time care, so we have a nurse who comes in and helps during the day for a couple of hours. I usually bring him breakfast and then Brady heads out to take him lunch and the nurse is there to help him warm up his dinner.
“Hello to you too, Father.” I ignore his question.
“Well, did he?” He also ignores me. “You either hire someone, or I’ll come and do it myself. Walker and all.”
I chuckle. “Simmer down there, Pops,” I joke with him. “I am literally putting the notices in the paper as we speak.”
“Don’t toy with me,” he barks, and I just laugh.
“Dad, I swear I’m going to put it in the paper,” I assure him softly. “Now, if you let me go, I can do it.”
“You better,” he snaps. “I love you.” His tone changes. “More than you will ever know.”
“I love you more,” I say, hanging up the phone and feeling the little pang I usually feel when I hang up the phone with him. Wondering if it will be the last time, knowing that even though we have prepared for it to happen sooner rather than later, I’m still not ready. I don’t think anyone is ever ready.
I place the ads in the paper, finish doing all the checks for the month, and I’m getting up to head to the front when the back door opens and Brady comes back in. “Have you been gone all this time?” I ask, looking to see it’s almost five o’clock.
“Yup,” he confirms, and it looks like he just stepped out of the shower. “Why are you still here?” he asks. “Isn’t tonight your night off?”
“I was just leaving.” I pick up my purse and sling it over my shoulder. “See you tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” he says, walking straight to the front of the bar. I get into my car and make my way over to my house, enjoying the sounds of the birds chirping all along the way. Spring is in the air for sure.
I call Charlie the minute I park my car, and it goes straight to voicemail. I’m walking into the house as I’m about to leave a message when I stop dead in my tracks. My whole house is empty. There is literally nothing in my house. The table is gone, and the couch is gone. I walk into the house and head to the bedroom and see that it’s also been stripped. I turn to head to my closet, every single piece of clothing I own is gone. Not one fucking hanger swings in place. I turn to walk back out of my room when I hear the front door open and then shut.
Walking out, I see Charlie coming into the house, and his eyes don’t even scan the room. As if my house has always looked like this. “My stuff is gone.” I blink twice. “Like, every single piece of everything is gone.” I turn around, wondering if I should call the police. I put my hand to my head. “How did they take all of the stuff and not leave anything?” I look at him, and he doesn’t even look fazed that someone broke into my house. “All of my things are gone.”
“They aren’t gone,” he reassures me, his voice not rising like mine. “I moved it out.” He walks into the room, standing in front of me. “We moved it out, started this morning when you left. Just finished not long ago.”
“Who is we and where did you move it to?” I ask and he just looks at me. His beautiful face tries to fight smiling at me, but he just smirks and then grins. The face I look for every single night I’m behind the bar. The face I look at right before I fall asleep. The face I wake up to each and every single day and have for the last eight months. The face I want to stare at for the rest of my days.
“Me and a couple of guys from the barn. Your brother came and helped.”
“Brady came here?” I say, pointing at the wooden floor. “To help you move my things out?”
“Yup.” He puts his hands in his back pockets, the T-shirt pulling against his chest.
“Where are my things?” I ask again.
“Took them to my house, our house now.”
I put my hands on my hips. “You took all of my things over to your house?”
“Our house,” he corrects me. “It’s been over six months. I’m done with this back-and-forth bullshit. Half here, half there. Playing heads or tails to decide where we sleep at night.”