Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 107667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
“Then I’ll need to get you some Vols shirts.”
I scoff at that, and she tears her gaze from mine as she looks around the space, taking in the photos and all the sticks that hang on the walls. She runs her fingers along the shelf of pucks that lines the whole wall that leads back to the bedrooms. She raises a brow at me.
“All my goals for the last two years.”
Her eyes widen in shock as she looks at them. “Impressive.”
“I told you I am very good at scoring.”
Her lips quirk as she moves to the other wall, taking in the photo of Sabine and me on the beach from this summer. Jaylin had it blown up for me and professionally framed so it would have a pretty, flashy gold frame and a light that illuminated it.
I told her it was too much, but she said it was the best picture of us she had ever seen. Sabine’s blond hair is in ringlets around her face, her blue eyes are shining, and she’s showing off her perfect grin. She wears her Miklas IceCats jersey, and so do I. She is sitting on my shoulders, the ocean behind us as we look right at the camera, truly happy. That day, we thought that she and Mom would be living with me. The next day, that changed, though.
“How old is she?”
“Eight going on sixteen.”
Her lips turn up more. “She’s stunning. Your sister?”
“Yeah,” I tell her, coming to stand beside her. “Sabine.”
“That’s an interesting name.”
“As you know, my mom was a huge fan of The Three Musketeers.”
“We need to watch that,” she announces, gazing at the photo. “When did you take this?”
“This summer.”
“Y’all look so damn happy,” she gushes, her twang wreaking havoc on my heart.
“She’s my sunshine, for sure.”
She leans into my arm and then reaches up, running her finger along my neck. “Sunshine.” I nod, and she kisses the spot. “She lives in Arizona with your mom, right?”
“Yeah,” I say, my stomach doing a flip because she remembered. Not that I forgot a thing about her family. “I miss her.”
“Not your mom?”
I shrug. “Not really,” I admit, letting out a long breath. On my phone right now is a text request for money since, apparently, my mom didn’t have the money for her water bill. “My mom wasn’t the best mom when I was growing up, and you’d think she’d do better the second time.”
“She wasn’t?”
“She had me young, and my grandpa actually raised me,” I tell her, pointing to the photo beside Sabine’s. It’s of my grandpa and me when I was a junior in college.
“Oh wow. Look at your little baby face,” she gushes, rising onto her toes so she can get a quick look. My fingers ache to touch her sweet thighs, but I resist as she traces my face in the photo. “Sabine looks a lot like you when you were younger.”
“Yeah, Mom claims we have the same dad. But I feel like if we did, I would have gotten to meet the asshole,” I laugh, but there is no humor in her eyes. “Promise, I’m not that damaged—only enough to joke about it.”
She snorts at that. “Your granddaddy loves you something fierce, doesn’t he? Does he live close?” An ache almost suffocates me, and I guess it’s all over my face once she looks back at me. “Oh, Dart, I’m sorry.” She comes to me, standing between my legs and wrapping her arms around me. She brings me into her chest and kisses my temple. Her touch is almost as overwhelming as my grief. “When?”
“Right before I was drafted.”
Her grip on me tightens, as if she can protect me from the pain. “I’m so sorry. He loved you, my love. You know that,” she tells me, and while I nod in agreement, the way she says my love in that country twang has me in knots.
“Yeah, I know. He was a great man,” I say, my voice strained. “He had an aneurysm in his brain, so it was quick and in his sleep, so he didn’t even know.” She threads her fingers through my hair. “His girlfriend was the one to tell me. She still calls me weekly to check in.”
“How kind.”
I move my hands to her thighs, holding her to me as she slides her fingers through my hair. “How are your parents?” I ask, needing to change the subject.
A sweet smile comes over her face. “Crazy as always,” she gushes as the oven timer goes off. “Ooh, food is done.” She kisses my lips quickly before heading toward the kitchen. “We should eat on the porch.”
“We can, though it might be chilly,” I say, watching her move around my kitchen. I love her there. It does something to me and urges me to be impulsive.