Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 81635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 408(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 408(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
Chapter 5
Frances
"I changed my mind," I say to my sister, Vivienne, when we park the car in the underground garage at the arena. "I don’t think this is a good idea."
All she does is laugh at me, turning off the car and getting out while ignoring what I just said. My heart is in my throat as I reach for the handle of the door and open it. The minute I close the door, we hear the roar of the fans. Arriving after the festivities was Vivi's idea so we aren’t sitting around awkwardly. "I guess the guys are getting on the ice," Vivi says, laughing as I walk side by side with her toward the family entrance.
"I think I’m going to throw up." I look over at Vivi, who just side-eyes me.
"Well, you look like you're dressed for war." She points at my outfit, and I stop walking.
"You said this was good!" I shriek, looking down at my outfit. My black jeans mold to my legs, and I paired them with a gray sweater. Instead of opting for heels like she did, I wore my white sneakers with black stripes. "What’s wrong with my outfit?"
"I think maybe it’s the leather jacket." She points at the leather jacket I threw on at the last minute. "Sort of a Sons of Anarchy vibe."
I snort, pushing her. "You're just jealous"—I start to walk again—"that your feet hurt and mine don’t."
"Ugh," she moans. "I’m wearing five-inch heels, and we're the same height." She shakes her head. "It’s not fair. You got legs for days, and I got none of that."
I laugh, pulling open the door, and the security guard stops us. "Passes." He holds his hand out. I look down at my purse, my long blond hair falling around my face. I opted to leave my hair loose instead of tying it up.
"Here is mine," Vivi says, handing the man the square plastic pass that we were all given. And by all given, my father gave Vivi mine last night when they got here.
"You're good," the man tells her. I slip my pass out and hand it to him. He looks down at it and nods his head, allowing us to walk into the arena. The floor literally vibrates under us as we walk over the carpeted hallway toward the family lodge.
"Okay, how do I look?" I ask her nervously. Not only do I have to vomit but I also think I’m going to shit myself. Why the fuck am I so nervous? Oh, ’cause your father isn’t talking to you, I remind myself.
"You look like you always look," she says, and I roll my eyes, irritated with her. Unlike our height, we have the same hair and eye color. Except mine turn green sometimes in the sun, whereas hers stay crystal blue the whole time.
"Seriously," I say. The door to the lodge opens, and I stop breathing. I'm literally holding my breath, expecting it to be my father, but it’s my uncle Max.
"Whoa," he says, looking at us in surprise. He’s wearing jeans and a Dallas jersey, which looks so weird on him. Since he played for New York, that is the only jersey I’ll ever see him in. This one no doubt has his name on it because of Michael. "There you are," he says, looking at my sister and then at me. Vivi steps up to him, kissing his cheek, and then I walk to him, and he gives me a hug. "Relax," he whispers in my ear. "It’s going to be fine." Just him saying that brings back the stinging to my eyes.
"I smell food," Vivi says and walks into the lodge, leaving me with my uncle Max.
"I have never ever felt this unsure in my life." I look up at him. "And I moved cities for a job that I’m probably unqualified for."
"Hey," he scolds, his voice tight. "None of that bullshit. You got the job because you were qualified." I smile tightly. The past week has not been an easy road. The condescending emails are nonstop, and even though I ignore them, hoping they’ll go away, it hasn't been easy. I’m giving them a month to get to know me, and then I’m going to just basically explode and let the chips fall where they may. "Now get in there. Your mother has been looking for you."
"Only my mother?" I joke with him and smile.
"Your father, too, but he’s Mr. Tough Guy and has been ignoring it. Yet every time the door opens, his eyes fly to it. He thinks he’s slick." He leans in. "He’s not. Come on, I’ll be your wingman." I laugh, nodding at him and walking into the lodge.
It’s jam-packed. "Look at who the cat dragged in," Alex, my cousin and Michael’s sister, says. "And looking like she just got off a runway." She comes over and hugs me.