 by Kristen Proby.jpg)
Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 68882 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68882 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Of course, at the time, I didn’t realize it was the Isaiah “Ike” Harrison, Seattle’s hot new quarterback. All I knew was that I was suddenly pinned under some solid, sexy body, unable to breathe.
But even now, I keep running into Ike in the most unexpected places.
And he’s doing everything in his power to convince me that he’s not just a player—in any form of the word. It’s so much more than that.
But I’ve been there, done that. I have the mended broken heart to prove it and have no intention of doing it again.
Except the frustrating man is convincing, and my walls are quickly lowering—especially when I feel responsible for possibly upending his career.
Is letting him in a mistake? Or will it be the best thing I’ve ever done?
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Prologue
Sophie
Fifteen Years Ago
* * *
She’s dead.
I just can’t believe it. I mean, I was at the funeral, and everyone was so sad, and Steph hasn’t been at school. She doesn’t return my calls or texts.
She’s gone.
But how can that be?
I pull out the notebook we passed back and forth during lunch from under my pillow and stare at it. In her handwriting on the cover, it says, Fitness Journal.
We were just trying to be thin.
To be accountable, we’d pass this notebook between us and write down what we ate, how much of it, and how long we waited until we threw it back up again.
I don’t blow chunks easily, so it was hard, but it had just started to work. I could see a difference in how my clothes fit.
And then she died.
For the first time since I found out about her death, I feel tears gather. Did we do something wrong?
My God, I don’t want to die.
And I don’t like keeping secrets from my parents.
My little brother, Liam, is already in bed, so I take the notebook downstairs where my parents are curled up on the couch, watching some sci-fi show.
“Mom?”
They turn and look at me, and when they see me crying, Dad immediately turns off the TV, and I move to sit in the chair across from them.
“What’s wrong?” Mom asks as she and Dad lean forward. “Are you hurt?”
“I don’t know.” I wipe away a tear. “She’s really dead, isn’t she?”
“Oh, baby.” Mama reaches for my hand. “Yes. She is.”
“How?”
“They’re still running the autopsy,” Dad says softly. “They aren’t entirely sure why she passed away in her sleep, honey.”
“I might know. I think it might be because of this.” I swallow hard and then pass them the notebook, and it all just comes flooding out of me. “I told her that I wanted to be skinnier. You always say that I’m perfect just the way I am, but I’m fat.”
“You are not fat,” Dad insists. “You’re thirteen, and your body is changing. A lot of kids go through a phase where they gain weight easily because of hormones, but trust me, it will even out.”
“Yeah, well, kids are mean, and they remind me every day that I’ve gotten fat.”
“Kids suck,” Mom mutters as she opens the notebook. When she scowls, I know it’s not good. “Wait, you were throwing up together?”
“What?” This comes from Dad.
Yep, not good.
“Steph said she’d been doing it for a long time, and it worked for her. She was skinny, and I thought she just knew about it. So, she told me what to do, and I did it. She said it was okay because we let our stomachs absorb some of the food, but then we threw the rest up.”
“No.” Dad shakes his head and drags his hand down his face. “No, Sophie.”
“You don’t understand,” I counter, but I keep my voice calm. It never works to raise my voice to my father. I learned that a long time ago. “Everyone in our family is beautiful. Do you know what it’s like to have all of these celebrities for aunts and uncles but I look like this?”
“Okay,” Mom says, holding up her hands. “First of all, I don’t know what you think you look like, Soph, but you’re a beautiful girl. Thirteen is the worst, but you won’t always be this age. You absolutely can’t solve anything by falling into an eating disorder.”
“That’s not—”
“Honey, this is an eating disorder. It’s not a diet plan—no thirteen-year-old should be on a diet plan, by the way. We feed you healthy meals. You have a balanced diet, and you need that food so you can continue to grow. I have to call Steph’s mom.”
“No.”
“Do you think she’ll get in trouble?” Dad demands, true anger firing in his voice. “She’s gone, honey. She can’t get into trouble now, and if this gives her parents some answers, well, then we need to tell them.”
“I’m sorry.” The tears come in earnest now. “I didn’t know that it was wrong.”
“Why did you keep it a secret?” Mom asks.
She hands me a tissue, and I wipe my eyes before shrugging a shoulder.
“That’s what I thought,” she continues. “If you thought you had to keep it a secret, then you knew that something about it wasn’t right. You won’t do this anymore.”
“No.” I shake my head. “I promise, I won’t. That won’t be me, Mama.”
“There will be therapy,” Dad says, leaving no room for argument. “And, if we need one, a nutritionist. I won’t lose you, Sophie. Not today or any other day.”
I jump up and rush to him, sit in his lap, and bury my nose in his neck the way I used to when I was younger.
“I’m so sorry,” I say again, soaking in the safety of my daddy’s arms. “I’m so, so sorry.”