Page 36 of Sweet Redemption

“How about you tell me, Serena.” Her voice softens.

The words taste sour in my mouth before I ask them. “Dad told you?”

“Oh, sweet girl, I’ve known for days. The better question is why, if you were so unhappy with the Revolution, didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it’s your team, Mom. Before it was ever Dad’s, it was yours. You love the Revolution. I knew how happy you were—you both were—with the idea of me taking it over.”

“Because it gave you a direction, Serena. You’re floundering without soccer. I’d hoped the team would help give you purpose again because you’ve been acting like you have none since the doctors said you weren’t coming back this time.”

I lean back against the wall and slowly slide down to my ass, already exhausted by this conversation. “I don’t need either of you to give me purpose, Mom. I just need time to find it myself.”

“And quitting is the answer?” she asks as kindly as she can, but her opinion comes through loud and clear. And I get it. We don’t quit is kind of a Kingston mantra.

“It is when I’m miserable, Mom.” My words are clipped before I take a beat and soften my tone. “I need space, and I’m not getting it working with Dad.”

“Are you sure it’s Dad you’re running away from?”

With my phone resting on my knees, I stare at the screen, glad she can’t see my face. “I’m not running from anything. I’m done pretending I’m happy, and the first step in fixing that is giving myself the room to figure out what direction I’ll be happier with.”

She waits a few long moments, and in my head, I can picture her calling my bluff.

But that’s the thing . . . I’m not bluffing.

I’m not happy.

I haven’t been.

Hendrix wasn’t the cause.

He was the final nail in the coffin.

“I love you, Mom. You and Dad. I even love the team. But it’s not where I belong.” I lift the phone and push back up to my feet. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I should have called you as soon as I gave my notice. But in my defense, it’s been a fucked up few weeks.”

“Serena Kingston . . .”

“Sorry. Messed up,” I laugh because my mother likes to act like crass language offends her, but it’s just an act. She curses like a sailor whenever she chooses to. She just doesn’t choose it often.

“I’d like it if you’d stop by the house soon. It would be nice to see your face before your cousin’s wedding.”

Shit.

Ryker’s wedding . . . in two weeks . . . where Hendrix is likely to be the best man.

Fuck me.

“Can’t get enough of me, little Kingston?” Rafe asks as I stand outside his front door in my pajamas. I mean, they’re lavender-striped cotton shorts and a tank top, so it’s not like it’s lingerie. But as his eyes linger, I pull the cardigan I threw over them a little tighter.

“You stole my roommate, and I want her back,” I demand, skirting around him as I let myself inside the house my new friend shares with both of his brothers and sister, which means he also shares it with his new sister-in-law/my best friend. “She was mine first.”

I’m only half kidding.

She was mine first, and some days, I think she’s the only person who understands me in all my messed-up glory.

Rafe closes the door carefully, like he thinks I might bolt . . . or more accurately, completely lose my shit. The latter of which is currently much closer to happening. I swallow down the spiraling emotions that’ve gotten the better of me on my drive here. “Rafe, please . . . I need to talk to Liv.”

“There’s this thing called a phone.” He pulls his from his pocket and holds it up like I don’t know what one is. I know. I didn’t actually plan on driving here. I just needed to get out of my house and somehow ended up here.

A bone-deep weariness chooses now to settle, frigid and numbing and in complete contrast to the hot tears I refuse to cry, which are burning the backs of my eyes.