Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 141251 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141251 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
They’re here.
I run to the laundry and start pulling the jerseys out of the dryer at double speed when something falls on the floor. Huh? I glance down and see a white thing. What’s that? I pick it up and see that it’s a very hot number seven.
My eyes widen.
I pull a jersey out of the dryer to see the number on the back of it is melting and hanging off.
Oh no.
What the hell?
I scramble through the jerseys. Sure enough, all of the numbers on the back are either completely fallen off or are half hanging off.
“Brelly!” Sammy calls from the kitchen.
I put my hands over my mouth. What the ever-loving fuck??
This can’t be happening. No… Dear God, no.
“Go and wake her up,” I hear Julian say to Willow.
"I'm awake," I growl. "And in the middle of a nightmare."
Willow comes into the laundry and her eyes widen when she sees the jersey I’m holding up. “Oh my God,” she cries. “What have you done?”
I wince and put my hands on the top of my head. “I don’t know!” I yell.
Julian walks into the laundry and his face falls as he sees the melted number two. “What the hell’s going on here? You can’t put those in the dryer. Don’t tell me you put those in the dryer!” he snaps.
“Of course I did!” I yell.
Willow starts crying and takes off upstairs, having a complete meltdown.
I know how she feels because I want to have one myself. This is unfucking believable.
Mr. Masters picks up the jerseys and starts to go through them.
“They’re all ruined,” he growls.
“What kind of crap jerseys can’t go in the damn dryer?” I cry.
“Every jersey in the damn world.”
Sammy snaps and punches his father on the leg as hard as he can. “Don’t yell at her,” he cries. “Stop it.” Then he bursts into tears.
My face falls. “Sammy, no, baby. It’s okay.” I pick him up and he howls into my shoulder. “Dad didn’t mean it.” I rock him as he has a meltdown, too. “You can’t ever hit Dad.”
Julian glares at me, and storms up the stairs to comfort Willow. I put my head on top of Sammy’s head as I rock him.
Yep…
Saturday’s off to a flying start.
Bring on the alcohol.
I sit in the fold up chair with Sammy on my lap as we wait for the game to begin. Julian took over the jersey situation this morning, because clearly, I couldn’t handle it. It turned out that there were two sets of jerseys in that bag, and combined with the ones that weren’t in the dryer, we nearly had a full team. Only four numbers were missing, and he ironed them back on temporarily while I freaked out. They are definitely going to fall off on the field, but at this point, who cares? I’m not talking to Julian, and Willow isn’t talking to me. Sammy isn’t talking to anyone but me, and this is one hell of a traumatic weekend.
Julian stands behind us with his arms folded, too wound up to sit down.
“Samuel, why did you hit me this morning?” he asks, unable to hold it in any longer.
I roll my lips, but I somehow keep my eyes on the field.
“Because I wanted you to stop it,” Samuel answers honestly.
“Stop what?”
“Yelling at Brelly. You’re going to make her leave.”
Oh no. “No, Sammy,” I say. “I’m not leaving. We were just having a discussion. You can have a discussion without anyone leaving.” I wrap my arms around him. Poor little kid.
“Do you promise?” he asks as he looks up at me with his worried little face.
“I promise. I’m not leaving,” I reply. “You don’t ever have to worry about that.” My eyes rise up to Julian, and he glares at me, furious that his own child chose to defend me over him.
I may kill your father, but I’m not leaving you, Sam.
He snuggles into my lap and the game begins. Soon enough, Sammy sees his little friend on the other field and runs off to play with him.
Julian and I watch the game in silence… until he chooses to speak.
“I’m sorry about last night,” he says quietly.
I stare at the field, unable to answer him.
“Aren’t you talking to me?”
I ignore him again. If I talk to him I’m going to lose my shit, and I have way too much dignity to do that here.
“What did you expect me to do?” he pushes.
“Stop talking,” I hiss. “I’m trying to watch the game.”
“Brell?” I hear a woman’s voice behind me, and we both turn to see Mr. Masters’ mother and father, Joseph and Frances, walking closer.
Oh, great. Just what I need. “Hello.” I smile as I stand to greet them.
They both kiss me on the cheek and stand beside me and their son.
“How’s she doing?” Frances asks as she watches Will on the field.