Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 119152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
I can’t fight the tears rolling down my face. For her. For Ben. The constant pain that consumes her. I don’t know what comes over me, but I lean in and wrap my arms around her. I don’t say anything, just comfort her. Let her know I understand. And it’s okay. There’s no right way to grieve. It takes a moment before she rests her hand on my shoulder and leans into me. I’m not sure how long we stay like this before she slowly pulls away.
“He looks like him. Ben. Spitting image. It’s wrong the way I treat him sometimes, but it hurts so much to look at him. He’s a constant reminder of what I lost. And I don’t know how to cope with that.” There are no tears, but the anguish in her eyes is enough. She’s suffering. They both are.
“I think you should look at your son and see how amazing he is. He’s kind and honorable. Stubborn and funny. And he’s a damn good firefighter. You should look at your son and think about what his father would say. I think he would be proud of the man he’s become—I think he’d be happy Ben’s following in his footsteps.”
Chapter 28
Ben
I can’t listen anymore and walk away. For years, I’ve been begging my mom to open up. Talk about his death. I needed it. I needed her. All this push and pull to help her heal. Help us both heal. But she couldn’t bother to give me the time of day. To see I was hurting, lost. . . that I needed her to see he left me too.
I storm through the living room, taking my fist to the wall. Those stories about my dad, they were never told to me. But she opened up to a complete stranger and shared something so intimate, something that could have gotten me through the pain, loss.
I grip my fist, cussing at the soreness in my hand. I take the stairs two at a time, finding my old bedroom. Everything’s the same. My football trophies line my dresser, and sports memorabilia clutters my walls. God, I loved football. It was all I used to think about. Playing was in my blood. And I was damn good. I worked hard for that scholarship. It was a kick to my ego when I only got offered a partial ride.
“Being ungrateful isn’t a good look on you, son.”
“It’s bull! I’ve worked my tail off—and for what?”
“A partial scholarship is an accomplishment. Those college recruits saw potential in you. They chose you. There’re players out there who aren’t even given that chance.”
“Levi got a full ride.”
“Comparing yourself to someone else gets you nowhere. You need to look in the mirror and see the talented player you are. You make me proud every day. And this scholarship—partial or full? It makes me damn proud. You’re going to go to college and show them what you got. Who. You. Are.” He presses his finger into my chest. “You have to have faith it will all turn out. I know it will. Because you’re my son.”
“Yeah, and how’d that turn out, Dad?” I snatch a trophy from my dresser and throw it across the room. It cracks in half as it hits the wall. I swipe another one and chuck it. Then another. And another. “Fuck!”
“Ben. . .”
I spin around to see Makayla standing in my doorway.
“Hey, are you okay?”
My chest heaves. No, I’m not okay. I’m a fucking mess because I can’t let go. I can’t stop being angry at him for dying. For taking everything I wanted away from me. For bringing me back home so my mother could beat me down. No. I’m. Not. Okay.
“We’re leaving.”
“Why? We just got here. Your mom and I—”
“Are what? Gonna sit around and compare stories about how much you hate me?”
“Ben, no. I was—”
“Listen, I didn’t bring you here to make shit worse—to make her say the fucking shit she did.”
I storm past her, stepping over the ruined trophies, and walk out of my room.
My mom appears from the kitchen as I hit the bottom steps. “Will you two be staying for lunch?”
“Not this time,” I snap, then stop and look back at Mak. “Let’s go.” I ignore the confusion in her eyes. She doesn’t move, and it makes me angrier. I grab her arm to move her along. She’s barely able to say goodbye as the front door slams behind us.
“Ben, what’s wrong?”
“Just time to go.” I release her and storm toward my Jeep.
She grabs at my arm, but I shrug her off. “Ben—”
“Get in the car.”
“Ben!”
I hate the way her voice breaks me down. But she can’t fix this. No matter how hard I want her to. “Get in the fucking car, Makayla.” For once, she holds her tongue and waves at my mother from her seat as I pull out.