Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 96802 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96802 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
I’d left more pissed off than relieved.
And I’d meant to tell English. I kept meaning to tell her. But at first, it felt ridiculous. Like… it was over with Jane. It would always be. She was in jail. She’d tried to ruin my life. She’d stolen tens of thousands of dollars from me.
Then, the longer I didn’t say anything, the more it felt like it was too late. I would have had to say it at first… or not at all.
So, I had gone with not at all.
Now, I felt like a coward and an idiot.
I’d ruined everything. Just when it was getting started.
I spent the rest of the day trying to figure out how to fucking fix this. And I hated the answer. Hated it. But not as much as hurting English. Not as much as that look on her face when she’d asked me if I still loved Jane.
And so that was how I stood on the sidelines of my youth lacrosse match the next day with the fucking media in attendance. I’d promised an interview afterward. My mother was even here.
I’d been shocked that she hadn’t screamed at me the second I entered her office. But I’d shown up with a solution. Even if it went against every reason that I had started coaching to begin with. I’d wanted one thing that was mine. Well, if I hadn’t fucked it up, then I wouldn’t be here.
And we lost the game. Again.
Still, I told each and every one of those kids how great they had done. Pumped them up in a way my father never had. Nor had any of the intense competitive coaches I’d had growing up. I spoke to one kid individually about a particular play, and then they were free.
I played the part. I answered interview questions. I deflected the bullshit about Jane. I smiled and took pictures with my mother. Became the person that English had set me up as. The election was Tuesday. If it wasn’t enough to squash what I’d done, then I didn’t know what else I could do.
“You did good,” my mother said as we walked away from the last reporter.
“Did I?”
“Yes,” she said. She sounded shockingly sympathetic.
“But I fucked it all up.”
She sighed. “Yes, you did. But you’re trying to fix it. And you’re doing it authentically.”
“Since when has that ever mattered to you?”
“Since when have you ever tried to genuinely fix something?” She arched a perfectly manicured eyebrow.
“Fair,” I finally admitted.
“She’s good for you,” my mother said. “English, that is.”
“I thought so, too. She’s mad about Jane and not talking to me.”
“Can you blame her?”
I glanced over at my mother and shook my head. I didn’t blame her. I’d known what I was doing. If it hadn’t been wrong, then I wouldn’t have hidden it from her. I was no better than her stupid fucking husband in that regard.
My mother brought me to a stop right in front of her awaiting black car. “You’ve had both an incredibly privileged upbringing and a rather tragic one. I wasn’t the best mother. Your father was never the best father. I know that he was hard on you. He was mean and judgmental and thought the worst of nearly everyone. He let his vices get the better of him, and you were closest to him. You took the brunt of that.”
I had.
But no one had ever acknowledged that.
“I was supposed to take over the company. Everything rode on my shoulders.”
“In a way that Penn never really understood,” she said with a nod. “And afterward, I wasn’t there. I’d lost my husband and the governor’s race in one fell swoop. It felt like all of my dreams were ending. I left you to your own devices. And… I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry,” I muttered. I’d never, ever heard that from her.
“Yes. I see now where you could have been all along. And that I did nothing to help you get there. So, you might have screwed up. But you’re owning up to it. You’re going to have to do that with English, too.”
I nodded. “You’re right.”
She smiled once. A warm, genuine smile that took me off guard. “I love you, Court.”
I pulled back in surprise. I didn’t remember the last time my mother had said that to me. “I love you, too.”
“I’m off to win an election. Wish me luck.”
I laughed softly. “You don’t need it.”
“Right you are,” she said and then disappeared into her limo.
I had no idea what to say. That might have been the most… normal conversation I’d ever had with my mother. As if we’d finally made up for all the horrible things we’d done to each other. One foot in front of the other. It had seemed impossible only six months ago. Another thing that English was responsible for.
And now, I needed to try to fix our relationship like I’d worked it out with my mother. For some reason, I didn’t think it would be quite as easy.