Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 119152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
The drive home is silent. My head is spinning, and I can barely focus on the road. We pull into the apartment building, and I stop in front of my building.
“Are you not going to park?”
“No. Get out.”
“What?”
I don’t even look at her. I can’t. “I need to do some shit. Get out. I’ll be back later.”
“Are you serious right now?”
I slam my fists against the steering wheel. “Get out, Makayla!”
“You know what? With pleasure, asshole.” She attempts to slam my door, but I’m already taking off. I am an asshole. It’s who I am. And I hate it. I hate the weight that sits on my shoulders. On my chest.
I’ve battled my whole life to be good enough. Good enough for football. To be a good son. To be worthy of her love. And for what? To never amount to anything I’ve fought so hard for? Football is gone. He’s gone. She only reminds me of who I’m not.
I park, jump out, walk into Jimmy’s, and take a seat at the bar. “Hey, sweetheart. Let’s line up some shots.”
“You sure? You look a bit sad. That never turns out good.”
“I said line ’em up.”
“Yo, my dad’s here. I’ll catch ya later.”
“You got this, man! Can’t wait to see you on primetime so I can blow kisses at my TV!”
I wave to Kip and head out. Hannah and Makayla are lying on a blanket in the front yard as I pass by.
“What’s got you smiling? Finally hit puberty?” Mak’s comment makes me chuckle. I slow in my jog and turn to her.
“Nope. Already hit that. As you saw while peeping in the bathroom. Gotta go impress some scouts. Get ready, duckling. I’m about to make it big.”
“The only thing big about you is your head, turd breath.”
“Oh, duckling, you and I both know that’s not the only big thing.” I wink and laugh at the flush in her cheeks as I jump in my dad’s truck. “S’up.”
“You ready, son?”
“Heck yeah. Let’s go make some dreams happen.”
“Fuck.” Stumbling into my apartment, I fall back into the wall and toss my keys on the table, missing it by a mile. A sloppy chuckle bursts from my mouth, and I sway forward. I catch my balance—barely—and suck in a deep breath. Wiping my hands down my face, I focus on the couch. Must make it to the couch and pass out—
“Ben?”
My head whips to the left, and I wobble.
“Hey.” Two MaKayla’s walk up to me and grab my bicep. “Jesus, are you drunk?”
I try to focus on one of them. “I was drunk hours ago. I would consider this plastered.” I laugh.
“You tore us out of your mother’s house with no explanation and kicked me out of your car so you could go get drunk?”
“Correction. Plastered.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” She and her double storm off.
“Hey, where you two going?” They halt and turn around. The fast movement makes me sway. They come back at me so quickly, I don’t react in time when four hands shove into my chest. I stumble backward, reaching for anything to catch me. Thank God the wall saves me.
“You had me worried. I thought something bad happened to you. I was just getting over the fact that you were rude as hell and treated me like I was nothing to you. Then again, I’m used to that. But to find out it was because you needed to go out and—”
“You know, not everything is about you,” I cut her off.
“Excuse me?”
I push off the wall. My mood suddenly flips a switch. The muscles in my jaw clench, and I step into her personal space. “You heard me. This isn’t about you.” My nostrils flare. My drunk-induced high is gone. My brows crease with anger, and it sobers me up some. I back away.
“Then what is it about? Talk to me.”
That’s the last thing I want to do. I don’t want to hash out why I am the way I am. Why he haunts me every night when I close my eyes. Why I hate her. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Oh, okay. So, you normally throw your girlfriends out of your car and go on a bender? Don’t lie to me. I’m not an idiot. I know something’s wrong. Was it your mom? Is it the anniversary of your—”
“Don’t say it. I don’t want to hear it.”
She reaches out to grip my arm. “So, this is about your dad? Ben, it’s okay to griev—”
“I’m not grieving!” I rip my arm out of her grip. “Jesus, he died thirteen years ago.”
“There’s no timeline on when someone is supposed to stop grieving.” She steps up to me, but I shrug her off. “Your mom is still hurting—”
“Just stop. You spend five minutes with her and think you know her?”
“I didn’t say I know her. I am saying I understand her.”