Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
“Don’t you dare bring her into this,” Wade snaps, cutting me off. “You lied to my face, Trey. Holland did, too, for that matter. You discouraged me from seeing her by feeding me bullshit about her being like a sister, while you were screwing her the whole time.”
My temper starts to slip. “It wasn’t like that, Wade. We were trying to figure things out. I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“You didn’t want to hurt me?” he sneers. “You just wanted to get in her pants and keep me in the dark. How long has this been going on, huh? How long have you been lying to me?”
“It’s not about that,” I say, my voice rising. “It’s about love. I love her, Wade. I always have.”
“Love? Is that what you call it?” He stands up, his face twisted with rage. “You’re nothing but a selfish bastard, Trey. You always have been.”
“That’s rich, coming from you,” I shoot back. “You’ve been acting like a spoiled brat, throwing tantrums because you didn’t get your way.”
Wade steps closer, his fists clenched. He doesn’t say anything but stares daggers at me. I’ve had it, though. I’m over his petulance.
“I know you’re acting like a child,” I snarl at him. “Grow up, Wade. Life isn’t always about you.”
What happens next is a blur. Wade shoves me hard, and I stumble, both of our beers flying. I push him back, harder, and he crashes over the table, coming to rest on the floor. He gets up, his face a mask of revulsion.
“I hate you for this,” he spits out, his voice raw. “I wish you weren’t my brother.”
My heart rends right down the middle. Wade and I fought a lot as brothers, but we’ve never used the word hate to describe our feelings. I can’t decide if he’s being honest or just dramatic.
None of that matters as he rushes past me, out the side kitchen door. I panic, knowing he’s headed for his truck. Wade’s been drinking, and I don’t know how much. Was that his first beer or his fifth?
“Wade, stop!” I yell as I sprint out behind him. “If you’ve had more than one beer, you can’t drive.”
“Get the hell away from me,” he growls, shoving me again as I try to stop him.
I try to grab his arm, but he pulls away and punches me hard with a roundhouse to the jaw. I spin before falling to my knees, dizzy from the blow. I shake my head, rub my jaw and as I look up, I watch helplessly as he gets into his truck and peels out of the driveway, turning right onto the main road.
I stagger to my feet, muttering. “Damn it, Wade!”
I start for my truck to follow, patting my pocket for my keys but remember I left them on the kitchen counter.
“Fuck,” I mutter, running into the house. I grab the keys, bolt back outside and hurl myself into the truck. I’m determined to stop him before he does something stupid.
I pound the steering wheel as I crank the ignition, cursing myself for letting things get out of hand. I should have just left him alone, let him come to terms with everything in his own time rather than trying to push this down his throat.
The roads are dark and twisty, my headlights cutting through the night. My heart pounds as I push the speed limit, desperate to catch up to Wade. He better not be fucking drunk. He knows better than to drink and drive, so I don’t think that’s a real possibility. I’m more worried about him being upset and angry while behind the wheel.
As I come out of a curve, I see headlights angled across the road, blinking yellow lights and steam up ahead. My blood runs cold as I recognize the rear of Wade’s truck and off to the side of the road, a small dark colored sedan. Both front ends are crumpled, the car worse than the truck.
“Fuck,” I snarl, jerking off my seat belt and jumping out. It’s so quiet except for the steam hissing from the small sedan. That car is closer and I run up to look in the passenger window, grimacing at the man slumped against the shattered driver’s door glass, his neck at an unnatural angle and his eyes open but unseeing.
That takes me all of a second to analyze the man is dead and beyond my help, so I rush to the driver’s side of Wade’s truck. “Please be okay, please be okay,” I chant.
I come to a skidding stop, grab the door and jerk it open. Tears spring hot to my eyes as I take in the massive damage, the force of the impact causing the front cab to crush in on itself. The steering wheel has pinned Wade to his seat, the airbags fully deployed. His head lolls on his shoulder and there’s blood coming out of his mouth.