Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 106092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
I groan as another blast of pressure makes it feel as though my eardrums are going to pop. What the hell is even happening?
Outside, the clouds roil and dip lower and lower until they seem to swallow the bay altogether. Unlike the usual fog that rolls in, these clouds rumble with thunder and flash with lightning. I’ve never seen anything like it.
Grumble.
This rumbling comes from within me rather than outdoors. My stomach is not impressed with the magnificent view. I swear to God if I have to go down a floor and eat from a vending machine in the company break room because my sandwich is being held hostage, I’m going to lose my mind.
I feel as though I’m caught in a constant, never-ending loop of wanting to call Knox and Dad over and over again but barely refraining, marveling over the terrible storm battering outside, and checking the news for any developments.
And yet, still no sandwich.
This is the Monday-est Friday ever.
Tyler
Why do people suddenly get hungry when they think the world is ending?
I mean, I’m not complaining. I’m busy as hell and tips are great.
But I am concerned about my brothers being out to sea. And they are still out there because I can see their location, two blinking purple circles far away from the city and bay.
Aaron is a good captain. It wouldn’t be the first time he got caught in a storm, with a boat full of clients, no less. He’ll navigate the storm like he always has.
I can’t shake the gnawing feeling deep in my gut, though. It eats at my stomach lining as I wait for the woman in front of me to decide which of the sugar-laden coffees is the healthiest. Finally, she makes a decision and I’m able to order Tabby’s drink.
As I wait for them to make her drink, I overhear two guys in suits discussing a sinkhole in Ohio.
“It’s a lot,” the older of the two says. “My wife is ready to go to Tahoe.”
“She thinks this is the end?” the other guy asks, sipping his coffee. “Goddammit, they added more than two pumps of hazelnut. I can’t drink this.”
The older man chuckles. “Have them remake it, Bart. It might be your last for the foreseeable future.”
My frayed nerves relax at their teasing. If these guys, obviously successful businessmen, are more concerned about their coffee order than the high winds whistling between the buildings, I suppose I should take a page from their book.
I’m not like Mom and Dad.
Bile creeps up my throat, but I swallow it down. My parents connected every raindrop to the moon’s imminent demise. Once, during a particularly stormy season, they made me and Jesse stay in the bathtub wearing helmets. They even kept us buried under couch cushions. It was hot and uncomfortable. If we even mentioned leaving the bathroom, we got a whipping.
I can’t remember where Aaron was during that time. Probably hiding out at a girlfriend’s house as much as possible to escape our parents’ overprotective hold.
“Tyler,” the barista says, holding up an iced coffee.
I snatch the coffee and then make my way back outside where my bike is propped against a parking meter. My next delivery is in the same building as Tabby’s daycare. Hopefully, the quick detour to grab her coffee won’t count too much against me and my tip. It’s all downhill from here—literally—and I’ll make up time on the ride down to her building.
Wind lashes almost painfully at my face as I stow her coffee in the food satchel I keep attached to the front of my bike. The sandwich I’d picked up from Evan’s Sub Shop is still hot in its wrapper, neatly wrapped up at the bottom.
Hopping onto my bike, I set off down the sidewalk, happy for the path being clearer than usual. The impending storm and higher than usual winds have people hidden away in their buildings, making my job a heck of a lot easier.
The wind pushes against my front, making me almost lose my ball cap. I flip it around and keep pedaling, thankful for the downhill route. A raindrop lands on the tip of my nose. Another splashes on my forearm.
Great.
It’s about to pour.
I’m nearing the intersection before the building of my destination when a car screeches in front of me despite my signal that it’s safe to cross. It’s then I notice the red blinking stoplight. Cars start honking at each other, everyone confused and agitated as to who gets to go next. I wait for them to hesitate and then zoom across the road.
The rain steadily drops, soaking through my black T-shirt and making me wish I’d thought to wear a windbreaker. I manage to find an awning that’s whipping furiously but still provides protection from the rain and park my bike there. Since this may take a while, I chain my bike to a handrail in front of the building before quickly removing the satchel from its perch on the front of my bike. Careful so as not to spill the coffee, I tuck the bag under my arm and trot inside.