Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 102282 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102282 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
But his good mood faded as the shift dragged on and no Renzo or any of his friends. Damn it. Maybe Renzo was legit busy with SEAL stuff, so he tried not to get too disappointed. No big. He’d text again, but not right away. Gotta give it some time, not look needy. Instead, he focused on his work, and on break he studied for an anatomy test he had on Wednesday, and very deliberately did not watch Renzo’s video.
As always on Sundays, they were super slow before their close at seven, and he had the place spotless before locking up and sending Sage off into the soft evening light on her bike. Trying to avoid the temptation to pull out his phone, he reviewed anatomy vocab words in his head as he walked out to his car. He was so deep in thought that he almost missed the nasty surprise waiting for him.
“Fuck.” The passenger side front tire was flat. Just his luck. Maybe it was a sign from the universe. Don’t trust in good things, Canaan. Or maybe more to the point, Stop obsessing about who is or is not going on the stupid camping trip, Canaan, and try worrying about whether the car can even make the drive. Exactly. At least this would keep him from checking his damn messages. He needed his limited battery power to show him a video of how to change a fucking tire. He’d never done this before, but that wasn’t going to stop him. Rolling up his sleeves, he prepared to get to work.
* * *
Renzo wasn’t sure he wanted a smoothie. Okay, that was a lie. He had made good food choices all weekend, and he could totally afford the calories of a protein shake without throwing off his planned regimen. And as he’d told Canaan, he could always eat. So it wasn’t lack of hunger that had him cleaning his room Sunday afternoon, then doing all his laundry, and finding other time-sucks like a few rounds of Call of Duty with Shiny and Bullets.
But if he went and saw Canaan, he’d end up waffling about whether or not he wanted to go camping. It was damn hard to say no to those hopeful eyes, and he wasn’t sure he trusted himself to turn him down a second time. But the memory of Toby and that mistake loomed large and kept him from a fast yes.
However, he also couldn’t get Canaan off his mind—he’d kept thinking of him while he’d made the video, searching through his playlists to find an early Kirby’s Revenge song that fit because he knew that would get a rise out of Canaan. He’d almost texted a dozen times, but a “hey, what’s up?” text seemed kind of mean when he couldn’t give Canaan a straight answer to his invite.
Back in his room, he was debating going for a run when his phone rang with his mom’s ring tone. He’d given her the opening riff from “Raise You Up” from a musical she’d made him watch. He swore she saved her watch list for when he was there because unlike Dad, he’d at least sit through a musical with her. He’d gotten her tickets to a show at the Academy of Music for her last birthday, and she’d been thrilled.
“Hey, Ma.” He paced his small room—never could stay still while on the phone, especially with his family.
“How’s my sailor?” Her voice was warm. “You still stateside?”
“Yeah. We’re here on base awhile. It’s all right.” His Philly accent always got much more pronounced when he talked to someone from home. It was as if his tongue forgot how to make L-sounds when he talked to his mother, all a-ite this and youse instead of you guys that.
“Good. I like you staying safe. You’ll for sure be there when we come, right?”
“Should be. Might have to work around some training. But I doubt we go wheels up before I hear about the transfer.”
“I’m crossing everything for you. We’d love to have you back in Virginia.”
“I know, Ma.” Lord, did he know. The whole family made no secret of wanting him back in driving distance. Five hours in a car was way more palatable—and affordable—than a day of cross-country flying.
“Speaking of, we got your deposit Friday. Angel, are you sure you can keep giving us so much? Shouldn’t you hold some back if you’re going to have to move?”
Angel. Sweetheart. Hero. She had an endless supply of endearments that sounded loving, but that added to the heavy pack of guilt and pressure he carried around. She needed him to be perfect, needed him to be the best. And he wasn’t “angel,” the perfect son or her “hero,” the perfect SEAL. He was only a guy trying to do his best, trying to do his job.