Rooter (Double H Romance) Read Online Free PDF Page A

My dad bailed when I was a toddler. I haven’t seen or heard from him since. I never met any aunts, uncles, or grandparents.
    Once, while high, my mom admitted she never wanted children. The only reason she got pregnant with me was to keep my dad around which backfired because he never wanted kids either. When I turned sixteen I moved in with Miranda and her parent’s. My mom got pissed, but only because her maid was gone.
    The only boyfriend I’ve ever had took my virginity by raping me. Miranda has always been there for me, but when it comes to Mike we’re at odds.
    “I appreciate your concern, Rooter. Truly. But the situation is complicated.”
    His bitter expression tells me he wants to argue this point, but instead he says, “Well, just know, if I find out he hurts either of you again, I won’t be as easy on him as I was before.”
    I don’t doubt it. “Understood.”
    His phone rings and he looks as relieved as I feel. This conversation was a bit deeper than I’m comfortable with since I don’t know him all that well. He snatches the phone out of his pocket, looks at the screen, then back to me.
    “I need to take this.”
    I nod and turn to leave. He calls my name and I spin back around.
    “If you ever need anything, I’m here.”
    “Thanks.” I wave.
    I watch as he answers his phone and strides to his door. Once he’s inside I turn around and find Miranda standing in the doorway glaring at me with arms crossed and pursed lips.
    “What was that about?” She whispers so Mike won’t hear as I walk in the door.
    “He wanted to make sure we were okay and apologize for scaring us.”
    “How very nice of him,” she snorts. “Did he happen to apologize for attacking my brother?”
    I stalk past her to the kitchen, but she follows on my heels. “Don’t be like that, Miranda. He’s genuinely concerned about our safety.”
    The kitchen looks exactly the same as it did when we were kids. Same pastel wall paper. Same old gray and white formica countertop. Same old reddish brown vinyl flooring. It has always been my favorite room in the house. It’s where I spent the majority of my childhood.
    Loraine, Miranda’s mom, would bake cookies and cakes, while quizzing me and Miranda for upcoming tests. There’s a scratch on the countertop from me cutting a head of lettuce without a cutting board when I was ten. Loraine had been so kind and patient with me about it. Every time I see this scratch, I want to cry.
    “Did you tell him there’s nothing to be concerned about?”
    I turn and face her. Her arms are still crossed. “He’s not an idiot. He hears what goes on over here.”
    “We argue. Who doesn’t?” She protests.
    I roll my eyes. “It goes way beyond that and you know it.”
    I grab a glass from the cupboard. Some of the glasses are from when we were kids. Loraine wasn’t one to upgrade. She’d simply buy more when needed. I choose one of the oldest ones.
    Miranda’s defensive stance becomes even more rigid. “We have issues like everyone else. It’s not anyone’s business but our own.”
    I open the refrigerator, remove a two liter of soda, and fill my glass. “Well, Rooter hears those issues on nearly a daily basis, and he doesn’t like it.”
    “I still don’t understand why he’d even care.”
    I plunk the glass on the counter a little too hard and she flinches. “Don’t start with your accusations, Miranda.”
    She uncrosses her arms and softens her expression. This is how it always goes with her. She comes on like a hard ass then the moment I reciprocate, she backs down at once. “I’m not accusing, just making a statement.”
    “Rooter doesn’t like guys hitting women. He hears us over here fighting with Mike all the time. He heard what happened last night,” I motion toward the bruise on her face, “and then he saw your face.”
    She picks up my glass and takes a drink. “So your big bad biker has a soft spot for abused women?”
    “Apparently so.” I tap the