Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 98846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
CHAPTER 20
THE FALL OF HAPPINESS
Queenie
The thing about happiness is that it isn’t meant to last. Life is a roller coaster: slow climbs to the top, a brief balance in euphoria, and then a steep drop that leaves you screaming and gasping for breath.
This isn’t a metaphor for an orgasm, either, although it could be, because they fall under the same principle.
Over the next few days I skip blindly through that state of suspended euphoria, ignoring the niggling worries and doubts that nip at my heels and threaten my bubble of bliss. I wear Kingston’s words like battle armor, protecting me from the fears and self-doubts that no amount of therapy—another thing my dad has footed the bill for—could ever seem to cure.
I should know better than to rely on any one single thing to make me happy. Especially not a single person. But I feel like I’ve finally found my person. The one who won’t try to tame my chaos but will let me live in it and help me balance my impulsiveness with stability. He’s yin and I’m yang. He’s sugar and I’m salt.
It’s a game day, so the team will be at the arena soon to get ready. I have a few more emails and memos to tackle, and then I can enjoy the game from the comfort of the box with Lainey, Stevie, Violet, and some of the other girls. I love watching Kingston tend goal. He’s so focused and intense. Just like he is in bed.
Once I’m done with the emails, I switch to my personal account and click on the new email from the University of Seattle. After the conversation with Kingston in his car the other day, I pulled out my college transcripts and reviewed all the courses and programs I’d taken over the years. I dropped out with one semester left to go for my art and psych degree. Then I tried a couple of other programs, but neither of them was a good fit.
So maybe it’s time to go back and finish what I started and see if maybe my mother is wrong—that even if my art isn’t gallery worthy, it’s still worth something. That I can do something that will give my dad, and me, a reason to be proud of myself for once.
I respond to the email from the local college confirming the appointment for next week with their admissions team, then head down the hall to the copy room to make duplicates of a few important documents. I kick the stopper in front of the jamb so the door doesn’t close on me. It’s wonky and doesn’t like to stay open without some help.
I’m waiting on the last document when the door behind me closes with a soft click. I assume it’s Kingston, because he always finds me before he suits up. “Looking to add the copy room to your pregame make-out session list?” My smile dissolves when I turn around and find not Kingston but Corey. “What the hell do you want?”
He leans against the closed door, blocking the only way out of the room, which now feels infinitely smaller with his huge body taking up space in here. He’s dressed in a suit, reminding me of the first time we met, back when he was playing varsity-level hockey. How stupid I’d been to fall for his charming smile and smooth lines back then.
He crosses his arms. “We need to talk.”
“No. We don’t.” I grab the last of the copies and slip them into the file folder. Tipping my chin up, I face him with confidence I don’t feel, and that niggling feeling starts to spread, churning in my stomach and seeping into my limbs. “Move, please. You have a game to get ready for, and my dad needs to see me.” I try to push past him, but he’s like a brick wall.
“No, he doesn’t. He’s already in the arena, and we have shit to discuss.” He eyes me with contempt.
“You can’t lock me in here with you and force me to listen to whatever bullshit you feel like slinging in my direction, Corey.”
“Looks like I’ve already done that, so your best bet is to shut your fucking mouth and listen for once. You’ve caused me more than enough headaches, and I’m sick and tired of your ‘I’m so entitled because my daddy is a big shot’ whiny bitch attitude.”
My stomach twists uncomfortably with anxiety, and my cheeks heat with anger and embarrassment. “What the hell are you even talking about?”
“My girlfriend tried to apply for a marriage license this morning, and you know what happened?”
“She saw something shiny in a window and it distracted her?” His girlfriend, Sissy, comes to all the home games, and she’s forever dressed in sequins. It makes her baby belly look like a disco ball. Which is probably the point.