Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
One way or the other, I find out tonight. First, I must do something that makes me feel like an even worse daughter. After the movie, I excuse myself up the stairs into Mom and Dad’s room. Dad’s phone is on charge.
Quickly, I unlock it, typing in his passcode. He shares it freely with the entire family. I think we all know each other’s passcodes, even Eric. It was the family policy when they gave us phones. I haven’t changed mine since becoming an adult. I take a photo of the number, close the contacts list, and sneak from the bedroom.
Eric is standing at the top of the stairs. He’s wearing a black T-shirt with a skate logo, his hair a mop of black curls. He’s the opposite of me, tall and skinny, with sharp cheekbones when he smiles and frowns like he’s doing now. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing. Keep your voice down.”
He strolls over to me, a cocky grin on his face. “Nothing, in Mom and Dad’s room, right?”
“Listen, Eric. Please listen.”
His cocky grin vanishes. He’s a good kid. Emotion flits into his eyes. Something in my tone must catch his attention. “Whoa, what’s up? I was only messing.”
“You can’t say anything, okay?”
Eric looks at me. We’re already the same height despite the age difference. “You should tell me what’s going on. Whatever it is, I can help you.”
His earnest tone melts my heart. He means it, but it’s too risky. “I’ll tell you later, okay?”
He narrows his eyes. “Okay… as long as nothing bad is happening.”
“No, nothing bad,” I say quickly, pushing past him and walking toward my bedroom, and that’s right. It’s not bad. In my bedroom, I smooth my hand over my belly, leaning against the door, already feeling love flow between us. No, it’s not that.
It’s just complicated and borderline impossible, but not bad.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Logan
I lie in my bed, the sheets coated in sweat, staring at the ceiling. I jolted awake from a nightmare a few minutes ago. It was some monster woman thing, all mixed in with my mother. I sit up, rubbing sleep from my eyes. I won’t be able to get back down now.
It’s not the nightmares. I get them from time to time. It’s that the second I wake up, I think of Emma. Day or night, I remember what we did by the fire, her body moving with mine. I remember how I walked out and pushed Michael away. Shut down my emotions.
I focused on the ice and the game. The team’s doing better. The hectic schedule makes it difficult to think about anything else, but for the first time in my life, I ask why? What is this all for?
Before, the game was enough, learning every intricacy I could. The patterns of offensive players, the unique way their skates touched the ice, even if it was only in the smallest details. Now, I think past that to the future. I’ve got all the money a man could ever need. I’ve got my health, which is more than some can say in this sport. I’m lucky. If I retired, I could…
I could what? Call up the girl I screwed and abandoned? Then, when I turn up at her house, make small talk with her dad? Her dad, who I basically told to go fuck himself, in polite terms?
Walking through the hotel suite, I stand at the window, stretching my arms out. This is bad. It’s four a.m. High-quality sleep is a big part of being a professional athlete, especially as you age. I haven’t slept an entire night once since I walked out on Emma.
My cell phone rings from the bedroom, deeper into the suite. I quickly grab it. There’s no reason my teammates’ sleep has to suffer too. It’s a number I don’t recognize. I reject it, then set my phone to silent. Not long after, I get a text and a voicemail notification.
Listening to it, every inch of me aches and burns. It’s her voice, sounding small and unsure. “Uh, it’s me, if you know who that is. Please call me when you get a chance.”
If I know who that is? When I hear her voice, I immediately think about finding the person making her sound so scared and nervous and making them pay. But what if that’s me? What if simply calling me is the reason she sounds like that? To her, I’m a monster—the prick who walked out.
I call her back immediately, sitting on the bed. My foot won’t stop tapping against the floor. It goes into overdrive even when I place my hand on my leg.
“Uh, hello?” she says.
I breathe huskily. Hearing her voice puts me right back on that top-floor balcony. Since then, I’ve wondered if anybody saw us. Not because I’m worried about snapshots of me, but if anybody else saw her like that… It was a private suite, so there was nobody above us to spy.