Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 109176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
“Great.”
“It will be okay, Josie.”
“How did I get here?”
“You were in the parking lot. I guess you and Dane got into a fight, and you fell. He called an ambulance.”
Mind racing. Pieces come together like a puzzle.
We didn’t fight. He would have had to talk to me to fight. But that must have been the story he told my father.
What else did he tell him?
Did he tell him I wanted to make him smile? But he was too stubborn, too set in his own self-loathing to let me in.
That he said no.
He most likely told a lie, one where it was his fault I fell.
It wasn’t.
I knew it was dangerous, and it was my fault for believing he would be there to catch me.
That’s not on him; it’s on me.
He said no.
And now I know where I stand.
My heart feels heavy, and I tremble with unshed tears. I want to cry. I can feel my heart wanting to break. I just don’t want to break in front of my dad.
I want to be strong.
The tears win out and splash against my cheek.
My father rushes to my side, taking my hand in his. “You’re okay. It’s going to be okay,” he says. “The doctors said you’re going to be fine. You can go home tomorrow, and from there you just need to rest. A little R and R.”
I can feel the tears welling in my eyes.
My father pulls up a chair and sits next to me. There’s so much I want to tell him.
But can I?
As I move to open my mouth and unburden myself, a sound rings through the air.
A phone. Not mine.
My father rummages through his pocket and pulls his cell out, lifting it to his ear. “Hi, Vivian.”
My mother.
Why is she calling him?
Me.
She’s calling about me.
He doesn’t have to say it, but I know it’s true.
“Yes. She’s right here. Yes, of course.” He pulls his phone from his ear.
Before he even asks, I’m already nodding, a hand outstretched. The moment I place the phone to my ear, I’m greeted by her soft cries.
“Mom.”
It comes out before I can stop it.
I wanted to be tough—to stand up for myself and demand an apology for how much she’s hurt me. But I can’t help it. A tear rolls down my cheek.
“Josie. Oh my God. Your father told me. I’m getting in my car right now—”
You’re better than this, Josie. Do not let anyone walk all over you. Not even your mom. Especially not your mom.
I suck in a breath, forcing myself to harden. “Mom. Stop.”
“You’re not okay. You have a—” A sob breaks from her throat, so I finish the sentence for her.
“A concussion. Oh, I know. People get concussions every day. It’s really nothing for you to worry about.”
“But you’re in the hospital.”
“And I’m being released tomorrow.”
“I’m getting in my car now—”
“It’s the middle of the night. You aren’t driving here right now.”
“But you need me.”
That’s rich, coming from her. I needed her when she kicked me out. I needed her to tell me who my father was, and she didn’t do that either.
“Actually . . . I don’t. I needed you months ago. Hell, I needed you years ago. But I don’t need you now. Bye, Mom.”
I hang up the phone before she can say anything else.
More tears threaten to spill. If I let them flow, I fear they’ll never stop. So, I take in a deep breath and stare out the window.
Be strong, Josie.
Just because someone gave you life doesn’t mean they need to be in yours.
68
DANE
I don’t make it very far. I don’t even make it to my car.
Instead, I decide to walk around the hospital. I don’t want to talk to anyone or see anyone, but I don’t want to leave. I pace back and forth, and then finally, probably an hour later, I head back inside the hospital. I already know what room she’s in, so I head in that direction.
When I make it, I find the door closed.
I knock once and hear the loud thud of footsteps. The door opens, and Robert is there. He looks at me, raising a brow. “I wanted to see if I could see Josephine.”
“Let me see if she’s up for visitors.”
The door closes a second later, and his footsteps retreat. I can’t hear anything, so he must be near her bed, but another second passes. When he opens the door this time, his face looks sunken in. I already know the answer before he even speaks. I nod my understanding.
“Dane.”
I shake my head again.
“It’s okay. I know it’s my fault.” I turn and leave, giving him no room to object.
69
DANE
I’ve been home for about an hour. With a glass of whiskey in my hand, I sit on the couch. I know if anything happens to Josephine, one of my teammates will call me, but I can’t help but think about her.