Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
“Damn,” Forrest mutters. “What are you guys thinking?”
Maddox looks at Roman, and I can see the resolve in his eyes. He knows our friend just got married and has a baby on the way. No way do we want him to not be able to provide for his family. I can see Maddox’s reply in his eyes before he answers.
“I say we hold off. At that price, I doubt the land will go anywhere. It’s too small for farmers, and it’s been for sale for months.”
“Yeah,” Roman agrees. “It’s just—not the right time.” I can hear it in his voice. It kills him to say it, but there will never be a time he won’t put his family first. We would never expect him to.
My mind drifts to the letter in my pocket. I have access, or could have access, to the money we need to fund our new facility. The money could take Everlasting Ink to the next level, but it’s wrong. Right? To marry for money? Besides, I don’t trust anyone outside of this room other than my parents, and the parents of the guys, Forrest and Emerson’s excluded. I love my brothers, but I’m sure as hell not marrying one of them.
“Where you been, man? I texted you a while ago,” Roman asks, pulling me out of my thoughts.
I pull my attention from the damn letter to Roman. “I was at my parents' having lunch when I got your message.” I don’t tell him I drove around for close to an hour when I left their place. That would only lead to more questions I don’t want to answer. How can I when I’m still trying to comprehend it all?
I haven’t decided whether I’m going to tell them at all. I mean, Roman knows I got a text and that my grandma, whom I’ve never met, passed away, but we can leave the details alone. Guilt hits me because I don’t keep things from the guys, but this feels… like even from the grave, she’s dictating my life just as she tried to do with my mother.
It feels wrong.
It would be selfish to get married to gain access to the trust fund I don’t really need. Don’t get me wrong. I’m nowhere near a millionaire. However, the guys and I have built a very successful business that I’m damn proud of, and I make a damn good living. My house is small, but it’s paid for, free and clear.
“How’s your mom?” he asks.
“Wait, is she not well?” Emerson asks, sitting up straighter on his lap.
“She’s fine,” I assure Emerson. “Her mom passed away. They hadn’t talked in over thirty years,” I explain. I know the guys already know, but I wasn’t sure if Monroe or Emerson did. By the way Emerson nods and Monroe places her hand on my arm, giving it a soft squeeze, I know they don’t need further explanation.
“I’m sorry,” Monroe says softly.
I give her a smile that I hope says I’m unaffected. “Thank you. I didn’t know her. She and my grandfather made my mother choose between loving my father or being a part of their family. Mom chose Dad, and well, here I am.” I wave and huff out a laugh.
“What did she send you?” Roman asks.
“A letter.”
There’s a long pause, and I’m not sure anyone in the room is breathing. It’s obvious that I’m upset, and they know I wasn’t close to her. My friends are smart, and they know something about that letter is what’s causing my sour mood.
“And?” Forrest prompts.
“Just a letter.” I shrug as if the letter was insignificant. It is insignificant. She has no control over my life. However, the reminder of those words on the page still lingers in my mind.
“Ladies, shit’s starting to get deep in here. You might want to roll up your pants legs,” Maddox says, crossing his arms over his chest.
I chuckle, because they’re my friends and my family, and they know me better than anyone. I should have known I wouldn’t be able to fool them. “Har har.” I barely contain the urge to roll my eyes. I’m irritated that I can’t keep this contained, but at the same time, I need to talk about this. To someone other than my parents. They’re too close to this. Too close to me to think about this objectively.
Not that there is anything to think about. It’s a bogus apology and an attempt to control my life.
“Listen, man,” Lachlan speaks up. “You don’t have to tell us, but we’re your family. Something is bothering you, so you might as well get it off your chest.”
I hang my head and expel a heavy sigh. The letter burns a hole in my back pocket. “My grandparents left me some money.” I scoff. “But there are terms I have to meet in order to get it.”