Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 121233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
That was a given, something I’d felt strongly ever since she didn’t turn her back on me when my father did. She wasn’t perfect, but she’d always been there, and for that alone I’d give her the last penny in my bank and the shirt off my back, too.
But it didn’t mean it didn’t sting, that I didn’t realize especially as I got older how much her cycle had fucked me up, too.
“Chart Day is just around the corner,” I finished after filling her in on how camp had been going so far. “So, we’ll see.”
“You’ll make the team, baby,” she said without hesitation. “And you’ll start, and before you know it, you’ll be signing a multi-million-dollar NFL deal and buying your mom a big mansion on the beach.”
I smiled, the vision she’d had for me one I’d heard a thousand times. It was born when I was young, from the time we realized I actually had some pretty decent talent in football. I could still remember her sitting me down after a game when I was twelve, still wearing my dirty uniform and cleats. She made me look in the mirror and she stood behind me, her hands on my shoulders and eyes locked on mine in the reflection as she said, “You’re never going to have the struggles I’ve had, Clay. You’re going to be rich.”
“Speaking of football, did I tell you Brandon used to play?” Mom asked, jolting me from the memory. “He was the starting quarterback of his high school team.”
My smile was flat, the sign for the coffee shop coming into view as I rounded the university courtyard where students were spread out on blankets, smoking vapes, laughing, and enjoying the evening.
I wondered what that felt like, to actually have time as a college student instead of having every waking moment consumed by a sport.
“I’m sure we’ll talk all about it at Christmas,” I said. “I gotta run, Mom. Another meeting.”
“At this time of night? They keep you busy, don’t they?” She chuckled. “Well, I love you, baby. Call me later this week to catch up.” She paused. “Are you… have you seen Maliyah?”
Ice thickened in my veins at the sound of her name. “No.”
It was salt in the wound, the reminder that it wasn’t just me hurting from our breakup — but our families, too. We had been together so long, through so much, that I knew my mom viewed Maliyah like a daughter.
They were closer than we were sometimes, bonding over things I knew I’d never be able to because I wasn’t a woman.
“Well,” Mom started, but then she thought better of it, letting a long pause linger before she said. “Just stay focused on football. Everything else will work itself out.”
“Love you, Mom,” I managed.
“Love you. Oh, and—”
Before she could ask anything else, I ended the call, pausing for a brief moment of silence and relief outside the front door of the coffee shop. The evening breeze was warm and pleasant, the last bit of summer clinging to the still-green trees.
I took a deep breath, hating how anything more than a sip of oxygen anymore made my chest burn. It had ever since Maliyah walked away from me, after I’d realized that this was my new reality.
It had already been a long day. The absolute last thing I wanted to do was get an ass chewing for not being Mr. Sunshine on camera.
But if it was ordered by Coach Sanders? I didn’t have the option to bail — not without endangering my starting position.
So, with a final sigh, I pushed through the glass door, a small bell above it chiming my entry.
Rum & Roasters was one of the only bars on campus, likely because it was civil and low key in comparison to the bars off campus. It was never crawling with wasted, underage college students toting their ridiculous fake IDs, but rather comfortably full of upperclassmen who were old enough to drink and preferred to have a quiet evening of conversation or live music rather than grind on the dance floor.
Their loss.
Still, there was something comforting about it as I pushed inside the dark space, the smell of old books and candles and coffee overpowering any alcohol being served. It was a lot more pleasant than the stench of the bars I preferred to frequent, and I had to admit it had a vibe.
Some guy played acoustic guitar on a small stage in the corner, singing softly along with the sound, but he kept the volume low enough that everyone seated at the dark booths and candle-lit tables could have conversation around it.
I stopped at the bar, scanning the tables in search of Giana. Something in my gut churned at the sight of a couple making out in one of the corner booths, but I skimmed past them quickly, eyes darting around until I found the person I was looking for.