Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 124005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 620(@200wpm)___ 496(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 620(@200wpm)___ 496(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
A spike of anxiety rushes through me. That’s been happening a lot more lately, these little fears prickling like barbs under my skin. I realized after the fact that I probably came off as short and cold last week when Dallas stopped by my office unannounced. But I’d just dealt with another shitty email from Topher regarding double-booking one of the rinks. Couple that with all the preseason stuff on my plate and Dallas overhearing the office water cooler gossip, and I couldn’t appreciate his effort until after he’d left.
I wonder, often, if one day his rose-colored glasses will break—the pedestal he’s put me on will topple, and he’ll see me the way other people do. Irritating. Overbearing. A lot.
But worrying about that won’t do me any good. I refocus on finding the stupid purse, though I know it’s ridiculous. I can’t let it go.
There’s one more place it might be. I open my closet door and flick on the light. Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I strain to shift the box on the top shelf out of the way. The lid pops off, and the box tips when I push it aside. I catch it before the mountain of paperwork inside rains down on me, but anxiety makes my throat tight as I set it on the floor at my feet. It’s been years since I’ve looked at that stuff.
In my first year of university, I dated a guy studying molecular genetics. He knew I was adopted and asked if I’d ever sought out my birth family—not because I wanted to connect with them, but so I could understand my genetic history. He made a good point, one that stuck with me. I had no idea what kind of genetic roulette I was playing. Shouldn’t I know if I had some latent, recessive gene that could cause serious health issues down the line?
I did the search, but in the process, I realized that more than genetic details, I wanted to know why I’d been given up. There could be tons of reasons. Maybe I was loved. Maybe I wasn’t. I loved my moms and brothers, but that question was a weight I couldn’t shake.
I told my moms about it, and they supported me. But nothing really came from any of my searching since my adoption was closed. I did some genetic testing to better understand my potential health risks, but the unanswered questions sat heavier. What had led my biological mom to give me up and never want to find me again? Why didn’t she want to know me?
Most of the time I can compartmentalize all those insecurities, but the past few months have made old wounds I thought had healed fresh again. All my hard edges are armor meant to protect me from more hurt. But in guarding my heart I’m also making it impossible to open up to Dallas the way I know he wishes I would.
“Get a grip, Hemi. Today is not the day to go down that rabbit hole.” My gaze snags on the purse sitting on the top shelf. I grab it, shove the box into the back of my closet, turn off the light, and shut the door. But the wound is already bleeding again, even with the box out of sight.
I press reset on my feelings and head to the Watering Hole to meet the girls. I need some Badass Babe Brigade time. They’re my team. My soft landing and my safe place. Rix and Tally start classes next week, and preseason exhibition games follow soon after, so this night out feels necessary.
I meet Shilpa in the front lobby of my building, and we step out into the summer evening. It’s the last weekend of August, and while the nights are steadily growing cooler, it’s still T-shirt weather. Shilpa eyes me from the side as we walk the few short blocks to the bar.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
“Yeah. Fine. Why?”
“You seem stressed.”
She’s my best friend. If there’s anyone I can talk to about this, it’s her. “I’m just afraid that one day I won’t live up to the hype in Dallas’s head, and then he’ll break my heart, and I’ll be the butt of more gossip.”
“That’s fair, but it also discounts how special you are. Also, who’s talking shit?”
“The usual suspects,” I mutter.
“It’s easy for people to sit on their thrones and judge, but they don’t know you, and frankly, they don’t deserve to. If you’d like to file a grievance, I’m here to help.”
“That would make things infinitely worse.”
“Don’t rule it out as an option if things escalate. You shouldn’t be dealing with this, no matter who you’re dating.”
I nod as we reach the Watering Hole. Tally and Hammer are already seated at our preferred booth. Dred walks in with Essie, a minute later. Rix messages that she’ll be here in a couple of minutes. We’ve just ordered drinks when she bursts through the door. She glances over her shoulder as Tristan saunters past the front window, hands tucked into his pockets, looking exceptionally smug. She motions for him to hurry up and beelines it for our table. Her eyes are wide, her smile manic, and she looks like she might be on the verge of tears. The door tinkles as Tristan enters the restaurant.