The Gender Lie (The Gender Game #3) by Bella Forrest (i have read the book a hundred times .txt) 📕

I shook my head.

“We’re good. Add these,” he said, grabbing a couple of bottled waters from the cooler by the register.

He paid and then walked away. I followed close. There were doors with keypads next to them all down the hall in both directions. Here we go. He typed in the number and opened the door. The room was small but clean with a sink, toilet, and full shower. There was a towel and washcloth on the sink.

“There’s soap in the shower. Take your time. I’ll be over here in seven, and I’ll meet you right out there by the entrance. I won’t leave you here. I made a promise, and I plan to see it through. Pay it forward,” he said.

I nodded and said, “Manny?”

He turned back to me and said, “Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

➣ Chapter 15

A Beast Walks Into A Bar

I needed to clean myself thoroughly. As I peeled the dried blood-covered shirt off of my body, I got a look at the crimson stain covering my chest. I tossed the shirt in the trash and then pulled it out, gripping it tight before dropping it back again. Then I took my pants off and tossed them too. I set the bag of clothes Manny had just paid for on the counter. And opened the water bottle he had bought for me. I tipped it back and drank more than half before setting it down.

I got into the shower and started it, getting a decently hot temperature. I cleaned myself completely with the packaged sample size bar soap. I put my head under the water and let the warmth soothe my aching—inside and out. Images of Jamie’s last moment were burned into my memory.

I’d finally taken revenge on my father for everything he had done to the people I’d loved. He deserved everything he got. He thought he could control me by taking everyone from me. I’d shown him.

When I turned off the water, I grabbed the towel to wrap around my waist. The steam has fogged up the mirror. I had taken my hand and wiped across the middle. I was looking at my skin. There was still a slight mossy hue at the center of my chest. I rubbed at it, but it wasn’t a stain. It was me.

I dried off and pulled on the sweat pants then the shirt and the coat he had gotten for me. Everything else went into the trash. I grabbed the bottle of water and finished drinking it down then opened the door and went toward where Manny had told me to wait.

Manny was waiting for me. His hair still wet but combed through for a cleaner look.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Better,” I replied, even though we both knew I was feeling the lowest of my life.

“Good. Let’s get some sandwiches and get back on the road.”

Once we were back in his truck, sandwiches in hand, he pulled back out onto the road. We talked a little more. He told me that his wife and he had never had any kids for themselves, but they had taken care of many over the years. Then the conversation turned to Jamie. I told him all about Jamie. How his parents had passed when he was little and that he had always been the runt of his class. I told him that there was an accident and that he took his last breath looking at me, and then I turned my head and stared out the window at the trees as we drove on.

At the next truck stop, Manny had pulled out some paper and wrote some things down with a ruler and then placed it in a notebook.

“I know the owner of that bar over there pretty well. How about I find out if you can work for the bed in his back room, and maybe it will give you something positive to keep waking up for.”

“All right.”

“Good, come with me,” he said.

We walked across the parking lot and over to the bar with a neon sign that read Twisted Belly. The wooden door squeaked loud when Manny opened the door. There were a few rough looking guys sitting at the bar on stools, five shelves of liquor sitting on the wall behind the bar, and an older guy wearing a leather vest with a scar starting over his eyebrow and finishing on his cheek. His eye had a white foggy tint to it.

“Jefferies!” Manny called out.

The man looked up, smiled, and called out, coming from behind the bar, “Mac Lir, my friend!”

They came together and patted each other’s back in a manly hug.

“It’s good to see you, my old friend. How’s it going?” the man Manny had called Jefferies asked.

“Just as always. Feeling the ache of getting old.” He laughed.

“That’s good, my friend. That’s good.” Manny chuckled.

“Who’s this here?” Jefferies asked.

“This is Striker. I met him out on the road. He’s had a pretty hard couple of days. Just lost a friend. And he’s looking for somewhere new. I was thinking that back room would be available, and you might be looking for a bus boy.”

“Well, for you, of course.” Jeffries eyed me. He lifted his nose and smiled. Something I remembered the officer had done when my mother was killed. “Good to meet you, Striker, was it?”

“Yes, sir. Manny gave me the nickname,” I replied.

“I think it fits. It’ll be good to have someone young around for some extra help. You know it’s tough getting older. The old bones want to work, but most of the time, it’s just too much.”

“I can definitely help,” I said.

“Well, good. Let me show you the room. It’s a little dusty, and I’ll grab some sheets and blankets, but it will work for now. We will get you started working after a good dinner and some sleep.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jeffries opened the door at the back end of the stockroom. He wasn’t joking about the