Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77983 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77983 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
I shake my head. “I won’t put that burden on a woman.”
“If she loves you, how the fuck is that a burden?” He scrubs at the few days worth of stubble covering his jaw. “You’re as strong as an ox. If anyone can manage this, it’s you. You can do anything, Harrison. I’ve always believed that.”
I chuckle. “I appreciate the sentiment, Ryden, but you haven’t always believed that.”
He lets out a laugh. “I admit I was an ass to you for too long, but shit, you had it all.”
“I had what?” I ask. “What did I have that you don’t?”
“A dad who didn’t abandon you.” He shakes his head. “I know your dad died, Harrison, but he didn’t take off and never look back.”
I had no idea that when Floyd fled, he left a trail of devastation in his wake. I was a kid and relieved that he was gone. I never stopped to think about how it impacted my brother or sister.
I’ve tried to be a constant presence in Roxy’s life since her father died, but I could have been there more for my other siblings. I will be there more now.
“You’ve got to stick around for a long time.” His voice breaks. “I need you.”
For the first time in my life, I take my brother in my arms and hug him. I really fucking hug him while he cries for what he lost.
A single tear streams down my cheek while I think about what I lost. My beautiful Ava has never left my mind since I walked out of her life. I have to hold it together for my family, but there’s a safe place I can go to where I know I can fall apart and someone will always catch me.
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
Harrison
I rap my fist against the red wooden door. I glance up at the towering Brooklyn brownstone. It’s late. I should have called, but I know I’m always welcome here day, or night.
The exterior light above me comes on right before the door swings open. One of my best friends is standing in front of me, dressed in jeans and a faded New York Falcons T-shirt.
A bark of a laugh escapes Graham as he points a finger at me. “Great minds and all that.”
By some ridiculous twist of fate, I’m wearing the same T-shirt as him. Ryden gave it to me months ago. I tossed it into my closet, but tonight after dinner, I changed out of my suit into the shirt and jeans. I slid a black jacket over it before I took off for the subway to bring me here.
“Come in, Harry.” Graham beckons me inside his home with a curl of his fingers.
As soon as I’m over the threshold, he has me in his arms. He hugs me tightly, his hand offering the same reassuring pat it always does in the middle of my back.
Once the door is closed, he steps back to look at me.
I glance toward the main living area and a hallway that leads to the newly renovated kitchen. To the right is a grand staircase. This place has five floors and more bedrooms than most people would ever need, but Graham and Trina are working on a huge family.
They have their little girl Sela, but Graham’s been talking about adoption lately.
It doesn’t surprise me, Trina comes from a family with thirteen kids, and Graham grew up in the foster care system. They are determined to create a welcoming space for children to grow up in.
I’m proud of them.
“Where’s Trina?” I ask. “I hope I didn’t wake Sela.”
“Trina’s at the bakery.” He drops his hands to his hips. “Her sister needed help with a big order for the morning.”
Dobb’s Bakery is two blocks over. It’s a staple in this neighborhood. Trina’s family has owned it for decades. Even though she works in the marketing department at the company Graham runs, she does what she can to lend a hand at the bakery when it’s needed.
“Where’s the baby?”
Graham glances toward the staircase. “In her crib. Come in the kitchen, Harry. I’ll grab you some water, and we can talk.”
I haven’t said a word about needing a shoulder to lean on or an ear to listen, but Graham knows me almost as well as Sean does.
I trail behind him as we make our way into the large kitchen. He motions toward one of the two large islands that anchor the space.
I sit on one of the black leather stools, resting my hands on the quartz countertop.
As soon as the open bottle of water is in front of me, I take a swallow.
“What’s going on?” Graham asks as he stands opposite me on the other side of the island.
I don’t know where to start, so I shrug.
“Have you been experiencing symptoms?” He sets his water bottle down without taking a drink. “Did you have more muscle spasms? Blurry vision? You look tired.”