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“That’s a little different. Mothers have carried the baby inside their bodies for nine months, and it’s their mother.”
“My mother didn’t feel that way about me.” He saysit without emotion, and I am so not prepared for this conversation.
Not any part of it.
I don’t like this tightness in my chest or the thought his mother never wanted him.
“I think your sister is smart and pretty. I like her, and I like you, too. I can’t speak for mothers—that’s something I’ll never be, but if yours had gotten to know you, I bet she’d think you’re a pretty great kid.”
His brow furrows, and he continues stroking the small cat. “I’d like you to be with my sister. You’re good.”
“Well, thanks.” Shaking my head, I walk over to collect my stuff. “Let’s head back to the house.”
It’safter ten when I finish watching the game with Jack and walk back to our house. Logan was at the station providing commentary, and Edward and Rachel left hours ago. I hope they’ve had enough time to be asleep when I arrive.
My conversation with Edward has been humming in the back of my mind all evening. I think about the few times I’ve found myself really committed to something.
I think about my little sister Dylan who I loved in a brotherly way. I did my best to take care of her, to protect her, to make sure she had everything she needed.
I went to her dance recitals. I was there when she bought her first pair of pointe shoes. I sat in the chair while the lady helped her tie them around her ankles, and I remember the gleam in her eyes when she went upen pointefor the first time.
She was perfect. She was skilled and strong and dedicated, and when she danced, it was really beautiful. It was art.
And I broke it.
I remember my days as a kicker. I remember Dad workingwith me in the evenings, holding the ball and giving me pointers. He would beam with pride saying how I never missed. I hit the same spot every time, and the ball would shoot straight and far.
I remember being the first-round draft pick for the Admirals, their starting kicker. Any time the game was on the line, I’d walk out confidently and seal the win. Every time—until the last time.
The funny thing about being a football star. I thought I didn’t care about it. I told myself I only did it because I didn’t have anything better to do. It was what Jack did and Garrett did and Hendrix did… It was what Dad told me to do.
I told myself it wasn’t part of me. I had other interests—reading, horses, working with my hands.
But when that day came, lying in that hospital bed and listening to the doctor say I’d never play again, I realized I’d been lying. I’d been committed. I’d loved it.
It meant more to me than anything, and it was gone.
The kitchen is quiet as I fill an insulated cup with water before starting up the stairs. These thoughts are heavy on my shoulders, aching in my back. I have every intention of brushing my teeth and trying to sleep, when I see the light shining under her door.
Now I’m standing in the hall, staring at that shaft of light, and all I can think about is what a fucking liar I am.
Lifting my hand, I knock softly on the wooden barrier. A rustling sound comes from inside the room, and it takes a few seconds, long enough for me to wonder if she’ll do it, before she opens the door a crack and looks up at me.
A thin, twisted towel is on top of her head, and her green eyes are not smiling. “What do you want?” she whispers.
“Can I talk to you for a second?” My voice is quiet as well. I don’t want to wake Edward.
She moves away from the door, walking farther into the room, and I step inside, closing it behind me.
Turning to face me, she crosses her arms over the thin shirt, and I can tell she’s not wearing a bra. Her cheeks are scrubbed pink, and she’s in soft sweatpants. She looks cozy and ready for bed, and I want to pull her to me and run my nose along her cheek and kiss her again.
Clearing the heat from my throat, I fumble for a boner-killer. “I fixed the leak in the greenhouse. The hardware was all dry-rotted and crusted, so I just replaced everything.”
She nods. “No more accidental drownings?”
Exhaling a laugh, I remember her dumping an entire bowl of water on my head. “In retrospect, that was pretty funny.”
“It was an accident.” Her tone is a touch defensive. “The bowl slipped out of my hand.”
