Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 39338 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 197(@200wpm)___ 157(@250wpm)___ 131(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 39338 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 197(@200wpm)___ 157(@250wpm)___ 131(@300wpm)
I don’t know what to say. Or do.
What does he want from me?
I’m afraid to find out.
Nevertheless, a moment later, I do.
“Come with me, sweetheart. Please. I know I’m asking a lot of you really soon. I know I’ve been asking a lot of you—”
“I . . . I can’t,” I sputter automatically. So cold. I’m so cold. “I can’t just pick up a-and move. Leave the bar. I’m an owner now. What would I do?”
“Go to business school, like you’ve been thinking about. I’ll support you and love you through anything. Anything. Don’t make me leave you behind, goddammit. Please.”
My throat is going to cave in from the pressure. My gut reaction, driven by fear and doubt and the pain of the past, wants me to scream no. But my heart is demanding a yes, and the conflict they’re waging inside me is knee-weakeningly fierce. The only option I’m left with is to evade. “I mean, we can’t just take a few days and think about this?”
“Tonight is my last game with the Bandits. I have to be on a plane tomorrow.” He takes one look at my stricken face and paces away, hands on his head. “Goddammit.”
I’m frozen.
Am I the most selfish person in the world that I’m battling tears over this incredible opportunity for him? Am I so self-serving that I want him to stay so badly that my bones hurt at the idea of waking up tomorrow and watching him leave on a plane? I don’t know how I’m going to live without the possibility of him ducking beneath the doorframe of Sluggers at any moment. He won’t be able to when he’s across the country. Maybe when he’s on the East Coast, I’ll see him. We’ll meet up. But more than likely, we won’t, because it’ll be too hard to keep saying goodbye over and over again.
But go with him? To California?
No.
Sluggers is my home. It’s the place that shielded and protected me when there was no other constant in my life. It’s a huge, scary world out there, and I will be vulnerable in the middle of it trying to chart a new path. Won’t I?
“Britta.”
I shake my head no.
He closes his eyes.
Blindly, I speed back into the house, stammering apologies and goodbyes while gathering my purse, my phone, and car keys, bundling them to my chest while I head out the front door. But instead of getting into my Honda, I steer toward Sluggers and begin to run.
I’m sitting in the center of the quiet dining room of Sluggers two hours later when Bryce knocks on the locked door. And waits, his breath fogging up the glass.
Eventually, I stand, floating like a ghost to let him in. “Hey.”
He studies my face, nodding once. “Hey.” There’s a wrapped package beneath his arm, and he hands it over, saying, “Don’t open it yet.”
Weird, but okay. I don’t have the brainpower to process anything beyond. Breathing and blinking are about all I can handle. “I’m not really in a talkative mood.”
“I know. I’m coming in anyway.”
“Suit yourself.”
I set the package down and drop back into my seat. My half brother takes one on the other side of the picnic table, folding his hands in front of him. “So . . . he’s leaving.”
Those words make me want to curl into myself. “Yes, I know.”
Silence permeates the dining room.
“I guess you’re just going to watch him go.”
“I don’t have much of a choice,” I say with a humorless laugh.
“Nah, there hasn’t always been a choice for you, Britta, but there is one now.” Bryce shifts side to side. “You’ve been through some bad shit. I think about it every day. How you must have felt, being on the opposite side of . . . the life I was living. Being left behind like that. I hate knowing that I was happy, hitting pucks around with our father, while you were carrying all this baggage. You have every right to carry that weight however you want.”
We talked about the past exactly once—the first time we met in person—and it was the first time I spoke about it with anyone. It’s not easy. It’s never easy hearing it all out loud. “Thanks,” I say hoarsely. “I told you. It wasn’t your fault. I don’t hold it against you.”
“I know. I love you for that, Britta.” He swallows. “But I’m also a hockey player, so I’m on the verge of giving you a little tough love. Sorry in advance.”
My defenses are screeching to the rescue. “I don’t want to hear it.”
“Yeah. Like I said, sorry.” He exhales, jabbing a finger into the table. “You’re too fucking brave to hide in Sluggers for the rest of your life. You are not confined to this place. You are confining yourself to it.”
Those words hit my chest like bullets. It’s impossible to speak.