Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 77415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
“She was supposedly reminding everyone about it since someone complained a few weeks ago that they weren’t reminded. Oh, and I’m not a kid.”
My kid wasn’t a kid. He couldn’t be when he was raised by me.
I’d done my best, but I’d been more like a brother than a parent. We were sixteen years apart in age, and there wasn’t a day that went by where I did the whole parenting thing correctly.
He had to grow up faster than most. By the age of ten, I was leaving him at home for extended periods of time because I’d been switched to a different shift that meant I didn’t get home from work until a little after nine o’clock.
By the age of twelve, he was spending almost the entire night alone, every other day, because my shifts were switched again.
By fifteen, we didn’t even pass each other for the entire day at times.
Now, at sixteen, I had a better paying position. One where I worked days, though they were long and just as tiring—if not more so—as my previous job. I was a supervisor (or manager, whatever) and being the boss was the pits. I had a low tolerance for dealing with people’s bullshit, and there was a lot of that in this job.
The only saving grace was being able to pay all my bills, and slowly drive down the debt I’d accrued over the years. Not to mention I was able to afford a house payment for the first time ever.
“You took me to the last one.”
I grinned. “That’s right. I did.”
“I can’t believe you’re prospecting. I’m so fuckin’ excited.”
I just shook my head.
My kid rolled his eyes at me and went back to the couch. He came back to me with a paper in his hand. “Read this and make sure it looks good.”
I grabbed the paper and read it, my heart tightening slightly when I read the words on the paper.
“You think I’m a superhero?” I asked quietly, my eyes flicking up to my son’s, where he was leaning against the wall.
Linc looked at me, really looked at me, and nodded.
“Yeah, Dad. I think you’re a fucking superhero,” he grated out. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here right now, now would I? My paper was on someone who inspires me to be a better person. That’s you, bitch.”
I grabbed my man-child in a headlock and brought him in close to me, then pressed a kiss to the top of his head before taking him down to the ground and tickling him like I used to do when he was six.
“Get out of here, kid. Let me read. You get your shit picked up outside, or it’ll get stolen.”
My kid left, thankfully putting on his pants before he walked outside to pick up his football gear, leaving me to read a paper that was enough to bring a grown man to tears.
***
I pulled my tired body out of bed, walked stiffly to the bathroom, and clambered into the shower.
Yesterday had been long and tiring, but I loved being a Dixie Wardens’ prospect.
Being called out at three in the morning because another member’s wife was in trouble made me feel like I was actually wanted. Needed. Like I had something to offer the men of the Dixie Wardens.
Sadly, my job didn’t allow me to do that all the time. I couldn’t just take off whenever I felt like it as some of the other brothers could. I had to work from six in the morning until five or six at night, Monday through Friday. If I didn’t, I didn’t have the cash for the house payment or have enough money to buy food after all of my credit card bills were paid, or the loan payments that I’d taken out when I couldn’t afford to put food on my son’s plate, or buy him school clothes for the year.
Not and keep Linc in school. A school where he was finally excelling.
Groaning with the need to fall back in bed, I finished my shower, then went to work. Only to do it all over again the next night.
Chapter 2
When a woman starts laughing during an argument, you should probably shield yourself, because she’s just flipped her psycho switch.
-Words of wisdom
Jessie
“Kick some ass, boy,” I said to my son. “Call me with the score once you’re done.”
And he would. He never missed a chance to tell me since he started playing over ten years ago.
“Will do, Pop. Love you.”
It’d been two weeks since the night I’d read Linc’s paper, and today was the first game between his football team and their biggest rivals in the district.
“Love you too, kid,” I rumbled. “Watch the feet.”
Linc laughed as he hung up. I was grinning, too, at the inside joke.
When I started him in our city’s pee-wee league, I had to have a long discussion with a then six-year-old Linc about kicking people when they were down.