Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 87255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
“I love him, Blakely.”
My eyes widen. “Really?”
She turns to me. “I do. We’ll talk about it this weekend, okay? I don’t want to get into it right now.”
Don’t want to get into what? What a weird thing to say. Since when has Miss Shameless held anything back? She’s not telling me something. Hmm …
A voice clears behind us. “Blakely?”
I look over my shoulder. “Are you a genie or something, Foxx? You show up out of nowhere.”
“Doubtful,” Ella mutters, loud enough so only I can hear. “Otherwise, women would be rubbing all kinds of things, hoping he shows up.”
I shake my head, fighting a laugh.
“Your brother is here to see you,” Foxx says, clearly unamused.
“We’re going to have to work on this,” I say. “I don’t want to waste your time by announcing every visitor. You keep scaring the shit out of me.”
He lifts a brow. “I’ll wear bells on my shoes.”
I burst out laughing. The corner of his lip quirks, but he refuses to smile.
“Send him in, please,” I say. “Thank you.”
He nods, and I’m pretty sure he rolls his eyes once his back is to me.
Ella stands. “I need to get going. I have a massage in an hour, and traffic will be miserable. I just had to see you before you got caught up in life and put me on the back burner.”
I laugh. “Right. Like you ever stay on the back burner.”
She laughs. “Call me later, and we’ll plan our dirty dinner discussion.”
“Okay.”
She heads for the door but stops when Brock walks in. Her arms go to his neck, and they embrace. Whispers are exchanged, and my brother gives her a single, sweet kiss. He waits until she’s out of the room before he makes his way to me.
“Hey,” I say, getting to my feet to hug him. “Are you okay? You have bags bigger than mine under your eyes.”
He wraps me up into a giant bear hug. “I’m fine. Glad you’re back.”
I squeeze him tight before releasing him. We sit down on opposite ends of the sofa.
“Thanks for bringing me clothes and my twenty-five lip balms,” I say, joking.
“Twenty-six, and you’re welcome. How was your honeymoon?”
I pause, studying him—trying to get a hint as to the direction of this conversation. Is he asking because he’s curious? Or because he’s ready to pick a fight?
He must read my apprehension because he sighs. “Renn said you had a great time. He said you tried to surf.”
“I was catching waves left and right.”
He lifts a brow.
“Kidding. I was awful.” I laugh. “But it was a lot of fun, though. You’d be good at it.”
“I’m glad you had fun, B.” He runs a hand over his head. “Look, I want to say I’m sorry for being a dick in Vegas and for not calling you the past few days. I should’ve been more supportive, and I feel like a piece of shit for letting you down.”
I don’t know how to respond to that. But something tells me that this talking point isn’t over.
A knot forms in my stomach, pulling tighter with every second it takes him to continue.
Finally, his hand drops to his side, and he raises his gaze to mine. “Has Renn said anything to you about my physical?”
I bolt upright. “No. Why? What’s wrong?”
He blows out a breath. “I’m fine. Okay. Let’s get that out of the way. I’m fine.”
“You’re reiterating that a lot for someone who is fine.”
My heart pounds so hard that I feel dizzy. I search his face for any indication that he’s lying and try really, really hard not to shake him until he explains wherever he’s going with this.
He shifts in his seat. “To make a long story short, I’ve been told I should retire.”
“What? Why?”
“There is a study I joined a couple of years ago to learn more about head impacts on athletes. It’s a data-gathering project. But when I had my scans as a part of my physical, I showed signs of neurological damage.”
My hand flies to my mouth. Tears fill my eyes.
“I’m fine, B.” He touches my knee. “I’d tell you if I wasn’t. Remember, this is a study. They don’t know anything for sure.”
“But enough that someone thinks you should quit rugby?”
He nods slowly.
“And you quit, right?” I blink back tears, my mind racing. “Tell me you put in your resignation.”
“Blakely …”
I scoot to the edge of the sofa and twist to face him. Adrenaline spikes through my veins. It’s matched only by the hysteria building inside me. “You’re quitting.”
“I wanted to talk to you about it—”
“You’re quitting.” Tears break the dam and spill down my cheeks. They’re hot and salty as they cross my lips. My voice cracks. “You’re all I have, Brock. You can’t risk it. Please. Don’t do that to me.”
I fight the sob as it climbs up my throat. But it’s no use.