Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 82951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
“Sweetheart, I don’t think you sound ungrateful. If that’s what you’re worried about, you need to stop that. Yes, we’re privileged. It’s the luck of the draw with birth. It doesn’t make us bad people. And it doesn’t make you a bad person to be a little lost right now.”
“Yeah, that’s how it feels. Like I’m just lost. And I know it won’t last forever, but I don’t like it right now.”
“You’ll figure it out. I have all the faith in the world that you’ll discover what’s best for you, E. Just remember, your path is yours. Not any of the parents’ or the other cousins’. You’re your own person, and I think it’s easy to forget that in this family because we all get so swept up in the amazing things that everyone is doing. I mean, look at us. Liv is an Academy Award-winning costume designer, and she married a movie star. We have athletes and music sensations, and hell, Keaton’s building a car for Garth Brooks as we speak.”
“It’s nuts,” Erin replies simply. “But I’m so fucking proud of all of you. You’re the youngest quarterback coach in the entire league, Drew. That’s freaking amazing.”
“And you’re going to find what makes you happy, too. But you’re amazing now. You don’t need to be a celebrity or work a job that gives you lots of publicity, or even a lot of money. Find what makes you happy.”
“Thanks.” She smiles softly. “Thank you for that. I think I needed the reminder.”
She takes a deep breath and looks around the new she shed.
“Do you really hate this? We worked hard on it.”
“I don’t hate it. I don’t want to use it, but I don’t hate it.”
“Fair enough.”
Chapter 2
London
“Why is it,” I demand as I stomp up the steps to the second floor, speaking loudly, “that during the summer, you’re up before the birds and demanding breakfast, but during the school year, you fight me like crazy every single morning?”
I stomp into my son’s bedroom and press the button on the wall that opens his curtains, letting the dim November light into the room.
“Come on, Caleb Rome Ambrose, you need to get up and get ready for school. We’re already going to be late.”
“Tired.”
My gorgeous ten-year-old rolls over and pulls the covers over his head.
“Too bad.” I rip the covers off him, grab a foot, and start to tickle him.
“No! Stop! I don’t want to go to school!”
“You have to go to school.” I release the ankle and then pull him to his feet, giving him a squeeze. “Go on. Get dressed. You’ll have to eat breakfast in the car.”
“Why can’t it be Saturday?” he groans as he stomps into the bathroom and slams the door.
“Don’t dillydally! I mean it, buddy. We have to go.”
“I’m coming,” he says from the other side of the door. Hearing the toilet flush and the water come on, telling me he’s washing his hands and brushing his teeth, I make my way back downstairs to finish packing his lunch.
It’s already been a crappy morning. I slept through my alarm because I was up into the wee hours of the morning, making my way through my email.
I didn’t even get halfway finished before I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer.
My toaster oven gave up the ghost, but not before burning my English muffin first, and when I pulled the milk out of the fridge for cereal, I found that it had expired.
If this is indicative of how the day is going to go, I should just call in sick for both Caleb and me and enjoy the day with him.
But responsibility weighs heavily on my shoulders, and I know that we both have places to be today.
So, work and school it is for Team Ambrose.
“Where are your shoes and socks?” I ask when Caleb makes his way into the kitchen. “And you didn’t comb your hair.”
“No one cares if my hair is combed,” he says with a negligent shrug.
“I care. Buddy, we are so late. Please get your socks and shoes on.”
“Fine.” He stomps to the mudroom, and I can hear him shuffling around in there.
“I would give my kingdom for a kid who’s a morning person.”
“I am a morning person,” he replies as he returns to the kitchen. “Just not when I have to go to school.”
“Don’t you like school?”
“It’s fine.” He shrugs again and accepts the foil-wrapped breakfast burrito I pass him. “But why does it have to be in the morning?”
“Good question. One I don’t have an answer for. Come on. We need to get our shit together and get out the door.”
“You said shit.”
I stop and close my eyes, counting to five. “Yes, I did. And please don’t say it again.”
“Why can you say it, but I can’t?”
“Because I’m a lot older than you, kiddo. Come on. Let’s go.”