Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 42306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 212(@200wpm)___ 169(@250wpm)___ 141(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 42306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 212(@200wpm)___ 169(@250wpm)___ 141(@300wpm)
“I was sorry to hear about Dean,” I mumble, shifting my weight from one foot to the other.
Hunter nods. “Thanks.”
After the accident, Skye’s father became more like a surrogate to him.
Until Skye left town.
“How’s she handling it?”
He jerks his shoulders. “It’s hard. They were close. Even though you know something is coming around the bend, and you think you’re prepared for it, there’s really no way to be ready for the void that person leaves behind in your life.”
“No, I suppose there isn’t.” The pause that follows is filled with poignancy. My guess is that we’re both dredging up the past and thinking about our own parents. We never had the chance to say goodbye to them. One moment they were here, heading out for a boat ride, and the next, they were gone. “Make sure you give her my best.”
“I will. She’ll appreciate it.”
For just a few seconds, I’m almost able to fool myself into believing that everything’s just like it used to be, but then another silence falls over us, reminding me that nothing is the same.
That it might not ever be the same.
“So…how’s the team shaping up?” I ask.
The tension marring his expression dissolves. Shooting the shit about football has always been second nature for us. We could talk for days and still never run out of things to say.
“It’s good. Hard.” His voice dips. “Harder than I expected. It’s the reason I called Coach. I needed to talk with him. Get his perspective on a few things.”
As much as I wish Hunter’s words didn’t sting, they do. I’m the one he should be leaning on. Instead, I’m the last person he wants to discuss his problems with.
“Was he able to help?”
“Yeah, he did. I made some mistakes my rookie year. I just need to keep my head down and work hard.”
My shoulders loosen. “Sounds like solid advice.”
When neither of us keeps the conversational ball rolling, another thick blanket of tension falls over us.
He plows a hand through his short hair. “Look, Mase, I don’t want it to be like this between us. It’s been almost two years.”
Hard to imagine, but it’s true. Two fucking years without talking to my brother on the daily. And yet it seems so much longer.
There used to be a time when we were thick as thieves. Now, it feels like there’s an ocean between us. He’s on one side while I’m standing on the other.
I’ve apologized.
Dozens of times.
But it hasn’t made a dent in his anger or resentment.
I’m not sure if anything will at this point.
Not even time.
The day he married Skye, I drank myself into a stupor right here in the garage. It was the second worst one of my life, after my parents dying.
“I don’t either,” I say softly, trying to hold my emotions in check.
With a nod, he glances away. Neither of us is very comfortable talking about our feelings.
I jerk my head toward the fridge. “You want a beer?”
He shrugs, looking grateful for the switch in topic. “Sure, I could have one.”
I nod before swinging toward the fridge. Once there, I pull open the handle and grab two Miller Lites. Using the edge of the counter, I knock both caps off before handing one over to Hunter. He brings the long neck bottle to his lips and takes a swig. I do the same as he hoists himself onto the counter. For a second, what just happened there fifteen minutes ago flashes through my brain before I shake the memory away.
With the afternoon sunlight pouring in through the open door, we guzzle down half our bottles.
“So,” he says, “I was thinking you could come out and watch one of my games this season.”
My muscles still as everything inside me tentatively lifts. It takes effort to fight back the thick emotion gathering in my chest. “I’d like that.” I shift, almost afraid to ask. “Are you sure Skye is good with it?”
It’s weird to think that my baby brother is now a married man and has to run things by his wife.
“It was her idea,” he says quietly.
My brows rise at the admittance.
That’s not what I was expecting. Although, as much as I hate to admit it, Skye was always a nice girl. When I sent her packing, it was never personal.
With a jerk of his shoulders, he stares down at the bottle in his hand before picking at the white label with his thumbnail. “Yeah, the loss of Dean has hit her pretty hard.” He glances at me. “Kind of puts things into perspective, you know?”
There’s no way to swallow past the thick lump wedged in the middle of my throat. “Yeah, it does.”
“Ever since Mom and Dad died, it’s been the two of us. I thought it would always be that way.” His voice drops as he unwittingly echoes my earlier sentiments. “You know they would hate that we’ve allowed this to happen.”