Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 85342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Going to work every day now was less stressful than before. I’m lucky I’m able to pick up four shifts a month to work in the ER when I’m not traveling, and the team is off. Then, I’ll head back to New York and work with Denise during the summer.
Picking up my bag at the front door and walking back into the bedroom, I press the button to close the shades at the same time as I turn on the lights. The room is exactly like it was when I moved in last year. Actually, everything in the apartment is the same. Before I lived here, my cousin Michael lived here for a bit. It belongs to Erika, who keeps it for visiting family members after she moved out. The only things in this house that show I live here are my clothes hanging in the closet and the family picture in the living room. Dumping my bag in the walk-in closet, I pull off my shirt and pants and head straight to the shower. I shower in the dark, and when I slide into bed, it takes me two seconds to fall asleep.
The ringing of my phone wakes me from my dream, and I lean over to grab it, only to come up empty. I get up on my elbows and look around the room to see where the sound is coming from. It’s coming from the closet, which makes sense since I just dumped my pants in there. I throw the covers off me and get up, following the sound of the ringing when it stops. I’m about to go back to bed when there’s a knock on the front door right before it opens. “Chase?” I hear him call my name.
“Dad?” I say, not sure if I’m dreaming or not. When I walk out of my bedroom, I see him standing in the entryway, looking toward the kitchen. He turns his head when he hears me. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Jesus Christ, Chase.” He puts his hands on his hips. “Why are you always naked?”
“I’m not always naked.” I laugh, turning to walk back into my bedroom and grab a pair of shorts. “I’m in my house!” I shout and hear him walking to the kitchen. I go to the bathroom before walking out to the kitchen, where I smell coffee. “Morning,” I mumble and walk over to him.
He puts his hand around my neck and brings me in for a hug. He’s been hugging me the same way since I was a little boy even though I’m a touch taller than him now. “Hi.” He walks over to one of the stools and sits down.
“What are you doing here?” I walk toward the cabinet where the mugs are kept and take out one, then head over to pour myself a coffee.
“You literally texted me last night and said you wanted to come work out with me,” my father reminds me, and I just look at him like he has two heads.
“I did?” I take a sip of the hot black coffee. “Are you sure?”
He just glares at me. “Of course, I’m sure,” he hisses, grabbing his phone from his back pocket.
“I mean, I’m not saying that I didn’t text you.” I hide the smile behind the mug. “I’m just saying you have sometimes not read the whole thing.”
“Chase fucking Grant,” he snarls with his teeth clenched together, “do not fucking play with me.”
“I mean, last time I asked you to grab me a latte,” I remind him, “and you grabbed me a ladle.”
“That was your mother’s fault.” He points his phone at me. “She read it wrong.”
“Okay, but you didn’t think to yourself, wait, what the hell would he need a ladle for?” I ask him, and he just shakes his head.
“You could have been making soup!” he shouts and throws up his hands. “Regardless, this is the text you sent me.”
“Read it,” I urge him and he looks down and squints. He moves the phone farther away from his face. “Hey, Dad, it’s Chase.” He reads the first line and then looks at me. “I also have caller ID.” He makes a face at me, and I can’t help but laugh. “Are you going to work out tomorrow? If you are going after ten, let me know. I’ll come, and you can pick me up…” His voice trails off. “Well.”
“So I guess that…” I push away from the counter and just stare at him. His look is the same one he used to give me when we were growing up. It’s the look kids hate to see on their parents’ faces. It’s the look that says, “Don’t play with me.” “I’m going to go change and be ready.”
“Good idea,” he says, getting up. “Great idea.”