Page 78 of Sweet Redemption

“You were strong and determined and talented, and your energy was infectious. You ever going to go find that girl again? Because she was something to behold.”

“What the hell, Teagan? Am I that bad now?” I snap, sitting up. “Harsh much?”

“More like honest, since no one else has the balls to say it.” She caps her water, studying the bottle like she doesn’t want to make eye contact, and I brace for the next hit. “Olivia babies you, and Aurora and Saylor worship you.”

“That’s not true,” I argue but the look she gives me makes me think maybe it is.

How come family can do that in a way no one else can?

Be brutally honest in one breath and quietly gentle in the next?

“I’m not trying to be mean. Just honest, because they’re not.”

“I know you’re not,” I tell her, straightening my spine. “But that doesn’t make it easier to hear. It’s been a rough year, but I’m working on it. I’m working on me.”

“Good. Because I like the you you’re working on. She’s pretty fucking amazing.” She points at me as she stands awkwardly. “And if you tell anyone I said that, I’ll deny it.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I promise. “Wouldn’t want anyone knowing you have a soft side.”

“Not even Liv. That bitch will torture me worse than you, Saylor, and my sisters combined.” If anyone else called Liv a bitch, I’d like to think I’d throw down, which is kind of funny. Bougie little rich girl can’t fight, right? Ha. Wrong. Soccer makes you tougher than anyone thinks. It doesn’t matter though. Teagan is family. And we protect what’s ours. On the flip side, we also call out what’s ours. And Livvy is ours, bitchy days and all.

“So are you going to offer Kaleigh the job?”

Teagan shrugs her shoulder. “Maybe. Are you going to actually leave this job?”

“Maybe.” I smile and watch her walk away. “Teags . . .”

“Yeah?” She turns with a hand on the door.

“Thanks.”

“Anytime.” She swings the door open and sucks in a breath as she barely manages to stop herself from walking straight into Hendrix. “Sinclair.” She nods his way, then throws me a questioning look before leaving.

And just like it does any time this man stands in front of me, my heart races and my fingers tingle. But the impending panic attack doesn’t come. “What are you doing here?”

His grin grows impossibly wide as he steps into my office. “Hello to you too, Serena.”

“Hello, Hendrix,” I murmur, flustered and more than a little annoyed . . . with myself and with him. “Now can I ask what you’re doing here?”

“I’ve given you a week—” he starts, and I shake my head.

“Five days,” I stop him. “You used to be better with math.”

He stalks my way, his long legs eating up the space in two steps. Navy-blue sweats hang off his hips, and a white tee stretches around miles of defined muscle across his chest. His dark brown hair hangs damp around his eyes, like I was his first stop after practice. Well, after a shower, hopefully.

“I used to be more patient. I didn’t understand how precious time was then. I get it now, and I’m tired of wasting it, princess.”

Oh . . .

“Do you need something?” My voice sounds foreign. Nervous and shallow.

“I need you to go out with me, Serena. Tonight.”

“What?” I squeak, not expecting those words. “Like on a date?”

His blue eyes gleam, and that hint of a dimple in his left cheek comes out to play. “Yeah, princess. Like on a date. We’ve wasted enough time. I don’t want to waste anymore.”

“I . . . I can’t,” I murmur, trying to catch my breath or maybe my sanity as it leaves me in a woosh.