Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 90433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Either way, he didn’t want or need an audience.
He started a fire in the huge pit behind the clubhouse that was used almost nightly. Once satisfied with the roaring flames, he returned inside, retrieved the safe, grabbed a bottle of tequila, and headed to the new Adirondack chairs Curly purchased last week. They had a sweet outdoor setup, and with Florida’s weather, the space saw plenty of action year-round.
Before sitting, he removed the pistol from the small of his back, setting it on the ground next to his chair. He’d stuck it in the back of his pants before making a fire. The clubhouse property was as secure as could be, and he didn’t expect any rogue gators to wander onto their property, but he liked to be prepared for any shit that might come his way. The club had enemies who’d surprised them in the past. Tonight wouldn’t be one of those times.
He settled down, took a swig of the tequila straight from the bottle, and then stared at the safe on the ground in front of him. “All right, you motherfucker, let’s see what secrets you’re hiding.”
He hefted the safe onto his lap with a grunt. Though small, it had some significant weight to it. The latch opened easily since Lock cracked the thing a few months ago, and Ty had made sure not to lock it up again. He peeked inside with a deep breath and a tremble in his hand he’d never admit to.
And frowned.
“Huh.”
One manila envelope folded in half sat in the center of the small safe. Excellent, more things for him to open. He snatched it out and then set the heavy safe back on the ground. His stomach twisted. Whatever that envelope contained, it wasn’t good for him. His gut rarely led him astray, and it was screaming at him now. If only he’d listened to it all those years ago on his wedding day when it shouted then too. But no, he’d been too young, too stupid, and too led by his dick to trust his instincts and instead married a woman who made his life a living hell.
“Why am I doing this to myself?” he mumbled as he pulled a stack of papers from the envelope. “What are you?” He laid the stack on his lap and smoothed it flat. “Lithia Women’s Care,” he read aloud from the top of the first page. “What the hell.”
Within seconds, it became apparent that the paperwork was a medical procedure report. “This patient is a twenty-eight-year-old female who presents with—”
His mouth soured.
“No fucking way.”
Ty sat straighter, reading with greater speed. His grip on the papers tightened, crinkling them in his fist.
When he finished reading, he sagged in the chair, staring at the dancing flames before him. The papers read like a horror novel, describing the story of his twenty-eight-year-old wife’s betrayal. The wife who’d spoken about wanting a baby more than she wanted anything in her life. The woman who’d dreamed and planned with him of starting a family and buying a little bungalow near the beach. The woman who’d cried with him when each year went by, and she never conceived. The woman who’d lied their whole goddamned marriage and had secretly taken oral contraceptives since before they’d wed.
Why?
And according to these papers, she’d gotten pregnant once, despite being on the pill. And at eleven weeks, she’d terminated the pregnancy.
The pregnancy with his baby.
She’d never told him. Never even tried. Not one whisper or breath with a hint of what was happening.
Why?
Why the lies? When they’d married, he’d been the one uncertain if he wanted children. Trina’s obvious excitement over becoming a mother eventually became contagious, and he got on board. By the time they were actively trying, he’d been equally eager to start a family. His shock and intense feelings of betrayal weren’t even about the abortion but the lies. He fully supported a woman’s right to govern her own body. But the years of lies and deceit? Pretending one thing when actively working against it? That cut deep.
Why?
The papers slipped through his fingers, scattering on the ground. The wind caught a few and whisked them toward the fire, where they burned up in seconds.
Good riddance.
Even as his stomach threatened to upend, he grabbed the bottle of tequila and chugged. It burned like the fires of hell, but he didn’t give a single fuck. It could burn a hole through his esophagus for all he cared.
One hour later, he sat in the same place, sprawled in the chair, staring at the fire. He’d only gotten up once when he stumbled inside for another bottle of tequila. He was a lot drunker than he had been when he read the medical documents, and now he had his phone in his hand and his ex’s number called up from his contact list.