Total pages in book: 169
Estimated words: 162138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 811(@200wpm)___ 649(@250wpm)___ 540(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 811(@200wpm)___ 649(@250wpm)___ 540(@300wpm)
I fight the urge to roll my eyes. The excuse works, though. They apologize for taking up his time, and he tells them he loves when they do. The minute they’re out of earshot, he groans and picks up the bucket.
“You can’t even complain,” I say. “You always flash your dimple and tell them you love talking to them, which is why it keeps happening.”
He glances at me sideways. “You seem to be immune to my dimples and charm.”
“I may be the only one in all of Rhodes who feels that way.”
He bumps his arm against mine, and I stumble a few steps. When I regain my balance, I push him hard enough that he stumbles, and things fly out of the bucket. He shoots me a murderous glance, and I take off, jogging to my car while he picks up the fallen supplies. He’s still talking to me when I turn on the car, but I drive off before he can stop me again. I’m dying to get home and shower. And I still have to mentally prepare myself to be excited for Marissa’s birthday tonight. That’s one thing that hasn’t changed.
CHAPTER 23
DELILAH
I turn on the television as I walk to my kitchen and groan when it switches on ESPN. Fucking Prescott. I never watch TV, but if I do, that’s the last channel I look at, especially around this time. There’s a breaking news banner on the bottom. I turn around to get a yogurt from the fridge when my phone buzzes.
“Hey,” I say, confused. “I’m not getting dressed yet.”
“I know, but something’s happening and I wanted you to hear it from me and not on a TV at Medley’s later tonight.”
My heart stops. “What happened?”
“Lachlan. . .”
My heart drops. I interrupt her before I can finish. “Oh, my God. What happened?”
I look back up at the TV, and sure enough, his gorgeous face is there. I set down the yogurt.
“He’s retiring,” she says.
“Jesus, Marissa. You should’ve led with that.”
“Hey, it’s not my fault that your brain automatically assumes the worst of everything,” she says.
She’s not wrong about that. I was already picturing going to his funeral and dying of a broken heart. The only reason I haven’t died from that now is the knowledge that he’s alive and well, and the stupid little spark of hope that constantly zaps through me when I think about seeing him again.
“Oddly enough, the TV was already on ESPN when I got here. I guess Pres was watching it last time he was here,” I say, staring at the press conference Lach is having. Thankfully, it’s on mute. I don’t think I can handle seeing and hearing him.
She’s silent for a moment. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” I turn my back to the TV.
“Do you want me to cancel Medley’s and come over?” she asks.
“No.” I shut my eyes and shake my head. “I’ll be there at eight.”
“Do you want me to try to reserve somewhere else?” she asks tentatively.
I laugh. “Where in the universe is that news not going to be reported tonight?”
“Fuck,” she breathes.
“I’ll see you at eight. I’m totally fine, I promise.”
We hang up and I slide down the refrigerator door slowly, until my ass is on the floor. I bring my knees up and bury my face in my hands. I so don’t want to go to Medley’s. I don’t want to do anything. Sadness engulfs me as I sit there. Why would he retire? Maybe he was injured? God, I hope it’s not due to what happened in Fairview. He loves that sport so much, and I already feel awful that he was hurt in the first place. He could have died. My eyes tear up, the way they do every time I think about that. I could have died as well, I know. Sometimes, I wish I had. The all-consuming guilt is something therapy will never fully take away. I know better than anyone that obsessing about the past won’t change it, but it’s hard not to think about every detail that went wrong. After a while, I force myself to stop thinking about it — about him — and make myself eat the yogurt, so I can get ready for the outing I’m already dreading.
“You’re here!” Marissa says, letting out a quiet shriek as she wraps her arms around me.
“Happy Birthday, bitch.” My voice is muffled in her hair. I spot Prescott and Wade talking by the door when we pull away. “I couldn’t carry your presents, so they’re at my place.”
“Oh, stop it. My present is dressing you, but you did a pretty good job on your own.” She gives me a once-over.
“I learned from the best,” I say.
“You sure did.” She smiles.
“So, are you excited to be another year closer to death?” I link my arm through hers and start walking.