Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 119212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
I was tired just from the stress of the game, but we were in the third period. Just starting. There’d been no Cassie sightings. I saw Cut looking for me in my normal seats, then skate past when he saw Dean there instead. He had crumpled up my ticket, but I knew he’d still use it.
As seats went, we didn’t get too bad considered we got them the day of the game. With each game that passed, with how well they were doing, this wouldn’t be a thing that could happen soon. Each game would be sold out days, if not weeks, before the game. That’s just how it was. I knew the box seats were gone the first day any opened up, and that was if they weren’t already bought from a years-hold which happened. A lot.
Either way, it was fun to sit and cheer with Melanie and Sasha.
Sasha informed us that she did not want to talk about Chad. Nut-Brother was a douchebag of epic proportions, so we were in the one-word zone during the game.
I asked now, “I’m going to hit the bathroom before things get super nuts. I’m walking by the concessions. Want anything?”
“Beer.”
I looked at Melanie. She shook her head. “I’m good. Just hurry back.”
“Will do.” I pushed out our row and headed up the stairs for the hallway.
It was after the bathroom, after I went to get beer for Sasha, when I was turning back to head for my seat.
Cup in hand, I was walking past a wall.
I didn’t think anything of it, not at first.
It was a transparent wall, more of a boundary for crowd control. People walked one way if they were leaving the seats and returned on the side where I was.
A man and a teenager were heading from their seats, and I wasn’t paying attention. Or with me being on my meds, I was enjoying that I wasn’t paying attention. I could do that now, but then the teenager ground to a halt.
I noticed that. It was odd, but nothing out of the ordinary.
I kept going.
The man stopped, turned back. I heard, “Hunter?”
And that, that had me paying attention.
My head whipped back. The teenager was staring at me, mouth hanging open, and he was gaping at me. He was on the other side of the wall, maybe ten feet away, and I was slammed back from a force inside of me.
It was Hunter.
It was my brother.
Then, a third male was coming after that.
I tagged him from my periphery, and I noticed his walk first. I knew that walk, but I didn’t know it enough. It was teasing me, nagging at me, but back to the teenager.
Holy—I was taking him in. Looking at everything.
His eyes.
His hair. Brownish with blond streaks.
His little nose.
How clear his skin was. Youthful. Young.
He had an athlete’s build.
He was wearing Cut’s number.
This was my brother, but he was older. He was a teenager now.
He wasn’t the ten-year-old I remembered, the kid I squatted down to brush knuckles with at my mom’s funeral.
The back of my mind already identified the man—and the other guy coming toward us—Chad. And my father. That’s what made sense, but I didn’t care about them. I was busy taking in my brother when the other two stopped, took in what was going on, and closed ranks.
Literally.
Chad and Deek stepped in front of Hunter, and a growl came from me. It was automatic. I didn’t know I was going to growl until I heard it, and then I wanted to growl again. I swung my gaze to Chad and stepped toward the wall. “Move!”
He blanched, then shook his head. “Can’t, Cheyenne.”
I surged toward the wall, my heart surging with me, and I slammed my hand against it. Palm flat. One hard pound. Not a slap, a pound. This was the street side of me. This was the part that was still inside of me. I growled again, “Move.”
His eyes went wide, but he took a deep breath and held firm. “I can’t.”
But it didn’t matter.
Hunter had moved to the side, around his dad. “Cheyenne.”
I grimaced, shoving the street in me back down, and I went over to him. “Hey. Hey there.”
We’d exchanged pictures. I didn’t have social media accounts, but I used Come Our Way’s Instagram page to follow his. I’d seen him grow up over the years, but it’d been too long. Way too long.
“You got big.”
“Hunter.” His dad moved in, throwing me a sideways look, but his tone was half hushed and half cautious. I didn’t spare Deek a look, and he knew why. Before his call to the Mustangs, I might’ve been welcoming, but he made his choice.
“Dad, stop! She’s your kid, too.”
Deek threw me another look, but he ducked his head and moved back a step.
Chad came up. He took in Hunter, me, and sighed. He put his arm around Deek’s shoulders. “Come on. Let’s grab this little punk a beer, because apparently he thinks he’s an adult.”