Sweet Home Montana

“You know I’m here if you need—”

“God dammit!”

I cower instinctively at his brash words, but then when I see him struggling with the zipper on the bag, I breathe a sigh of relief when I realize his outburst isn’t directed at me for once.

“Here, let me,” I say, hurrying across the room.

He mutters something unintelligible under his breath, stepping away, and I carefully fix the stuck zipper, slowly pulling it closed, taking a moment to look down at the black bag that holds the clothes my father is going to be wearing while he spends the rest of eternity buried six-feet deep in the cold ground. I release a stammering breath, emotion rearing its ugly head. But I manage to blink back my tears, maintaining what little composure I have. I turn slowly to find my brother staring down at the bag, fresh tears sliding down over his cheeks. And never before have I ever felt someone else’s pain the way I feel his right at that moment.

Tripp looks at me, meeting my eyes just as a sob bubbles out from the back of his throat. And suddenly, as he falls apart right there in front of me, I quickly close the distance between us, wrapping my arms around him and pulling him close. He cries on my shoulder, sobs inconsolably, and I smooth a hand over his racking back, our differences set aside in that moment, for now at least.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.