Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 101214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
I almost snort. That much is embarrassingly obvious. The fact that I was entirely forgettable makes me feel like even more of a pathetic loser.
I jerk my shoulders, attempting to play off the incident even though it’s much too late for that. If it didn’t matter, I wouldn’t have brought it up. It would be a non-issue that we could joke about. But we both realize that’s not the case.
Brayden lays his hand over mine, swallowing my smaller one up. Even though I don’t want it to, the unwelcome energy we always seem to generate sparks to life. Attempting to tamp it down doesn’t do a damn bit of good.
Another heavy silence crashes over us. If I didn’t know better, I’d suspect he might actually be filled with remorse. But I’m sure that’s more wishful thinking on my part than anything else.
“I was really messed up freshman year.” There’s a pause. It’s almost as if Brayden is attempting to pick and choose his words carefully. “A year before that, I lost someone really important to me. Instead of dealing with the grief the way I should have, I attempted to numb it with alcohol and girls.” He gives me a slight smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. In no way is it a full-on, panty-dropping Brayden Kendricks smile. The very same one that leaves a trail of broken hearts in his wake. “It didn’t work. In fact, it only made everything worse.”
His brutal honesty takes me by surprise. This is in no way the bullshit excuse I was expecting from him.
Not even close.
The air gets sucked from my lungs, making it impossible to breathe. It’s painful to realize that we have more in common than I ever imagined. The difference is how we dealt with our grief.
I immersed myself in soccer. The only time I felt whole was on the field. It didn’t matter if it was for practice or a game. When I was on the turf, I could forget about everything. I was forced to set all of my heartache aside and live in the moment. I couldn’t get lost in the thorny tangle of my thoughts. I couldn’t rail at a higher power for stealing my brother. Without soccer, I have no idea how I would have made it through that difficult period in my life.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur. If there’s anyone who understands what it feels like to lose a piece of your heart, it’s me. It’s a pain I’m intimately acquainted with.
Now it’s Brayden’s turn to jerk his shoulders and act like it’s no big deal when clearly nothing could be further from the truth. He shifts awkwardly on his seat as if already regretting the overshare. I’ve been there too many times to count. Grief and loss make people uncomfortable. Especially those who haven’t experienced it.
Sympathy floods through me, prompting me to admit, “I lost someone, too.” I blink away the moisture that attempts to gather in my eyes. “It sucks. Everyone tells you that it gets better, but it doesn’t. Not really.”
His eyes change, losing some of the guardedness that fills them as he focuses on me with sharp intensity. “No, it doesn’t.”
Another quiet moment falls over us, but this one isn’t racked with tension.
His gaze flicks away before resettling on mine. “The death was sudden, and I didn’t handle it well. There were so many coaches, counselors, and teachers who reached out, but I pushed them away. I couldn’t deal with all their stupid platitudes. Like that made anything better.”
I snort out a mirthless laugh and shake my head. “I can’t tell you how many times someone said he’s not really gone. He’ll live on in your heart forever.”
His lips flatten. “Yeah. What the hell kind of thing is that to say? Guess what? I don’t want him in my heart. I want him in my life. Is that so difficult to comprehend?”
“No.” I shake my head, understanding exactly what he means. “Or how about he wouldn’t want you to be sad?”
“Right.” He rolls his eyes. “I guess I shouldn’t be sad then. I’ll just move it along so that my grief doesn’t make you uncomfortable.”
“Someone actually had the balls to tell me that, in the end, this experience will make me stronger.”
His brows rise. “Did you punch them in the face?”
“No,” my lips tremble at the corners, “but I wanted to.”
“I probably would have,” he says, after considering it for a long moment. “That’s a shit comment.”
My head spins as we lapse into silence. I never expected to show up here and share an intense moment with Brayden. It feels almost surreal. How do we have something so tragic in common? How is it that he’s one of the few who understand exactly how I feel about an experience I don’t share with other people?