Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 121764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
I frowned, abandoning my drink and turning on the bar stool until I faced her.
She glanced at me and shook her head. “I know, I know. I shouldn’t say shit like that. Go ahead and tell me I’m being dramatic.”
“I didn’t say a word.”
“You were thinking it.”
“All I’m thinking is that I’m sorry you feel that way, and I want to know why.”
Grace froze at that, blinking once slowly before she turned to look at me. “You don’t think it’s stupid that I said that?”
“Not if it’s how you feel.”
Her brows knitted together, bright green eyes skirting between mine like she was looking for the lie. “Well… thank you,” she said after a moment.
“For not negating your feelings?” I laughed a little. “The bar is really in hell, isn’t it?”
“You have no idea,” she said on a sigh, but she was smiling again, and this time it was genuine. She took another drink before adding, “Do you have any siblings?”
I shook my head, my stomach hollowing out a bit. Sometimes I wish I’d had a brother or sister, just so they could take some of the attention of my father instead of it being fixed on me all the time. I immediately felt guilty for that thought and shoved it away.
Grace smiled, but it fell quickly. “I love Vince. I do. He’s the best big brother I could have ever asked for.”
“But?”
“But,” she conceded, like she hated that there was a but. “Living in his shadow is getting really fucking old.”
I swallowed, and before I thought better of it, my hand slid from the bar down to cover her knee.
I didn’t say a word, just squeezed her gently, letting her know I was listening. I also tried to ignore the way my hand wrapped around her so easily, the way chills washed over her arm at my touch.
“I know my parents love me,” she added after a moment. “And they’ve always taken care of me. But… like, okay, for example. My mom knows I’m going through a breakup. She also, until this phone call, had no idea where I was in the world. And when I called her? She didn’t ask where I was. I told her. And she also didn’t ask how I was doing. I mean, she did,” she amended quickly. “But not in the real way. Not in the concerned way a mother would when she knows her little girl is heartbroken. She asked in the obligatory way, just a quick pulse-check so she could tell me she was busy and needed to get off the phone.”
I took another calm sip of whiskey to keep myself from commenting on that, because I was not the kind of man who would ever speak ill of one of my friend’s mothers.
But also, fuck her for making Grace feel insignificant.
“And look, I get it, I’m an adult now,” she added. I fought down the urge to argue that point. “And it’s just a breakup, with some guy who really doesn’t even matter, to be honest. But… if this were Vince? If Maven broke up with him?” She looked at me then, shaking her head.
“She would have asked,” I finished for her.
“Oh, she would have already flown down to Tampa and set up camp in his house, cooking for him and doing his laundry and whatever else.” She waved her hand in the air to illustrate. “Dad would be there, too. The same way they drop everything to go to his award shows or his big games.”
I chewed my lip to keep from saying words I’d regret, watching as the sadness sank even deeper into her bones right in front of me.
“I just want to be someone’s priority.”
She whispered the words, so softly I almost questioned if I’d heard her right.
And those words broke my fucking heart as much as they made me grind my teeth.
“I’m sorry, Grace.”
She nodded, and for a moment I thought she might cry. Her eyes glossed over, but she quickly inhaled and blinked several times with her gaze cast up toward the ceiling. Then, she pinned me with a breathtaking smile, lifting her drink to her lips. “What about you? Do your parents fawn over you the way mine do over Vince?”
Her question socked me in the gut — almost the way her masking her feelings with that smile did. I hated that she felt she had to put that mask in place, but I understood the need for it.
She leaned on happiness the way I leaned on apathy. She chose to smile where I chose to float through my life without any agency.
We all had our ways of coping.
“Not exactly,” I answered.
Grace frowned, but before I could elaborate, I was tapped rather aggressively on the shoulder.
I spun in my seat just enough to look at the offender, a white, burly looking mammoth with an impressive beard and a smile that both terrified me and made me feel like we could be best friends.