Draining His Tank (GOOD WITH HIS HANDS: SEASON 2) by Lisa Freed EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Lisa Freed
- Language: English
- Genre: contemporary romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 3.8 MB
- Price: Free
FERN
My head pulses in time with the steady drip, drip sounds coming from
the kitchen faucet. It has been randomly dripping for months and I’ve come
to the conclusion that I need to either replace the entire faucet, call a
plumber, or continue to ignore it.
Considering the pile of bills spread out on the table in front of me,
continuing to ignore it is really my only option. In the grand scheme of
things, a leaky faucet is the least of my worries right now, as I’m struggling
to stay positive and see the light at the end of this nightmare.
I never dreamed I’d be a widow at twenty-six.
Flopping face down, I let out a weak groan, closing my gritty and tired
eyes as I press my face to the smooth wood of the table. Once again, I kick
myself for not divorcing Jared before he had to go and die. If I had divorced
his ass, I’d be off the hook for the mountain of bills he left behind.
After the accident when he was in the hospital for weeks, I never had a
single doubt that he would walk out of there. He was too tough and far too
mean to die.
But the joke was on me. After running up medical bills into the seven
figures, he died.
And he did it quietly, in the middle of the night, while I wasn’t there.
Something his family will never let me forget.
Ha! As if my presence could have prevented his passing. Maybe they
should have had his girlfriend visit him around the clock instead. Bet he
wouldn’t have died on her.
You shouldn’t speak badly of the dead, but what about flipping them
off?
I extend both hands and shoot my deceased husband the bird. If he’s up
in Heaven, which I doubt, he’s probably laughing his ass off.
Unable to put it off any longer, I drag myself back upright and face the
bills. The pathetic balance staring up at me from the checkbook makes my
fingers shake around the pen.
I’m wondering if I can live off forty dollars for groceries for the rest of
the month when my phone buzzes. If it’s another bill collector, I’m going to
call it a day and head back to bed.
A snort escapes me.
I wish.
I can’t afford not to show up for my shift at the diner. This job is the
only thing keeping food in my stomach and making it possible for me to
send all these little payments out. Sure, the paltry amounts are like spitting
into the ocean, but they show I’m trying and keep most of the bill collectors
at bay.
My headache ramps up at the car dealership’s number and, using a
finger, I slide my phone further away from me as if that will make it all go
away.
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