Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 45785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 229(@200wpm)___ 183(@250wpm)___ 153(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 229(@200wpm)___ 183(@250wpm)___ 153(@300wpm)
Just checking in to see how you’re doing, kid.
He was a bit of a conundrum, that guy. He reminded me so much of Ryan that I was extra glad they’d go to Europe together. They shared the same contrasts of being both meticulous and reckless, highly skilled and fumbling, deathly serious and complete clowns. I was a bit protective of Crew, I could admit that.
I was certain Ryan would feel the same. Plus, he’d undoubtedly come home with a handful of fun stories to share with his wife and…I didn’t know what they called Greg. Boyfriend? Partner? There were three of them, anyway. And all their kids.
Crew responded as I applied new compresses, and I read his message as soon as I’d wrapped gauze around my thigh.
Last time I did this, I blew my cover and had to be fucking rescewed by my dad and uncles and all their friends. You could say I’m suffering from performens anxiety.
I smiled a little to myself. Call me a dick, but I found his typos endearing. Soon as all this was over, I’d go back to helping him, like he’d asked—just not now. I typed back to him.
I wouldn’t send you halfway across the world if I didn’t believe you could pull it off, Crew. Just remember you’re not alone. You’ll have Ryan by your side, and the rest of us are a call away. But if you’re struggling to put together your profile, wait till we’ve met with Blanco tomorrow. It’s possible he can give us more intel on Delgado.
I finished up with my leg and doused myself in deodorant while I waited for him to reply. The AC unit in our motel room left a lot to be desired, so it was bound to be a sweaty night. But the rest looked decent. No roaches. No mold in the shower. No flickering fluorescent lights, but rather nice spotlights installed by someone who refused to hire a professional. The carpet in the bedroom didn’t have burn marks or suspicious-looking stains; it was only glued in place poorly.
Just as I was ready to leave the bathroom, Crew’s answer popped up.
I’ll wait. It’s better if I can modify a profile to fit his character. What about you? How’s Mexico? You never mentioned you were at war with your brother-in-law before.
At war… Maybe a cold war.
I’ll tell you all about it one day. Now I’m gonna take my ass to bed and hopefully enjoy the slight buzz of a Tramadol. I fell asleep in the truck before I could enjoy it earlier today. Get some rest. Talk tomorrow.
I tightened the towel around my hips and walked out, and Crew sent a final text.
LOL. Bring home the good shit! Night, boss.
The sound of a sniffle made me snap my gaze toward the two beds, and I caught Joel—with his back to me—hurriedly wiping his cheeks.
He cleared his throat. “Any hot water left?”
“Do you really want it to be hot?” I asked automatically.
Fuck, I couldn’t see him upset. It was a million times worse than seeing Piper in tears. He had to be closed off. Aloof. A dick, even. Otherwise, I started to crumble—and remember how things used to be. Or how they could’ve been.
Now was a good time to remind myself that he’d fucked up. He had turned me into the jaded bastard I was today, and he’d had the nerve to be an asshole about it too.
We’d once joked about our shitty timing and how we’d probably never have a dream that put us in the same place at the same time. He’d dreamed of college and the Coast Guard, of following in his dad’s footsteps in becoming a sniper. I’d dreamed of adrenaline rushes and making a difference in areas nobody wanted to go. But that hadn’t stopped him from giving me hope—only to pull the rug from underneath after and become a whole other person.
Okay, I felt better now. Worse, but better. Anger stitched up the open gash of hurt that still festered, fucking years later.
He kept his face angled away from me as he dug through the plastic bag of toiletries we’d bought on the way, and I kept my mouth shut. I didn’t utter a word of reassurance or comfort. Not that he’d want that from me anyway.
“How’s your leg?” he asked quietly.
“Go shower, Joel. I’m not in the mood.” I turned my back on him and sat down on the edge of my bed, where I kept my duffel on the floor.
“Jesus. Excuse me for giving a fuck.”
That made me chuckle. Him? Giving a fuck? Right. I pulled out a pair of boxer briefs and my painkillers.
Joel moved toward the bathroom, which put him in my line of sight. If I were to look up. I’d rather pretend to look for something in my bag. I just saw his legs as he stopped outside the bathroom.