Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
That he leaves.
Fuck, he’ll be gone.
Why does that make me want to cry?
I swallow hard as I nod, but it’s Ingrid who says, “I’ll schedule a time since neither of them will.”
Maeve snorts at that, while Mom sighs. My gaze volleys between the two of them. “What?” I ask, and Mom gives me a small smile.
“It’s just that you two are very frustrating.”
I cock my head at her. “How so?”
Maeve chuckles. “Well, the fact that you two have been in love since you were kids but never acted on it and denied it at every turn is a start.”
“Then you two get together, fight, and you run,” Mom adds, giving me a look. “Not surprised, though. God forbid you allow yourself to be vulnerable to the one person you call your best friend.”
“How do you know we haven’t?” I ask incredulously. “You know nothing, only what you observe.”
I don’t miss the way they look at Ingrid, and I glare. “Once more, tossing my ass under the bus.”
Ingrid holds her palms up before she starts to speak and sign, “In my defense, I only said Thatcher hasn’t admitted how he feels and takes only what you’ll give him.”
I scrunch up my face. What the hell? I would give him everything. Anything.
I glare at the three of them as annoyance burns through my body. “And also, no one actually read what I wrote in my letters. I told you guys not to blame him, that it was my choice and I’m just as much at fault.”
Maeve’s unsmiling expression hits me in the gut. “It was very hard to accept, and he wouldn’t budge on what happened. It was easier to blame him, even if it was wrong.” I see tears welling in her eyes, and I feel awful for bringing it up. “We just wanted you back.”
“And he wouldn’t tell us anything. Only that he’d fucked up and that he’d make it better,” Ingrid adds. “It was hard, Audrina. We didn’t understand.”
“And we were hurt,” Mom says, and my stomach feels hollow.
“I really am sorry,” I whisper, the emotion thick in my throat. “But it’s not all on him. I hurt him before he hurt me, and while it’s all really messy, I do want to figure it out with him.”
Well, look at me, being vulnerable.
But not to him…
“As you should, at your earliest convenience,” Ingrid demands, her eyes pleading with mine. “All we want is for you two to be happy. And as crazy as it may seem, you are happiest together.”
“Especially now that Arwen is here,” Maeve adds, and Mom nods, pride shining in her brown eyes.
Unsure what to say, I’m thankful when Don and Dad come in through the door from the garage. They greet everyone before they both come over toward me. But to my surprise, instead of my dad kissing my temple or hugging me, he hip checks me to the side.
“What the hell, Dad!”
He ignores me and cups Arwen’s face. With a loving look that I thought he reserved only for me, he signs, We got you something.
Don nods, signing, For our favorite girl. Her daddy’s number.
Don pulls out a black-and-red IceCats home jersey that’s outlined in a shimmery silver thread. My heart catches at the way Arwen’s eyes light up when Don turns it around to show Thatcher’s last name and his number 37. It was his dad’s number, and you can tell how proud Don is to see it on the IceCats jersey.
To be giving it to his granddaughter.
Arwen squeals as she makes gimmie hands, and Don chuckles before he helps her stand. Dad puts a hand at her hip to hold her steady while Don slips it over her head. It’s a little big, but she looks too cute for words.
Mommy! I have Daddy’s jersey, she signs at me, bouncing on her toes as the biggest grin imaginable comes over her face. The kind of smile that completes me.
She’s stunning.
I’m breathless, or maybe that’s just a lump the size of South Carolina in my throat. Thatcher won’t ever have the cute photos of Arwen in his jersey as an infant. The Instagram-worthy ones that make anyone, even men, swoon at the sight of a hockey player with his child. I stole that from him. From Arwen. All at once, the guilt eats me alive as I watch everyone fuss over Arwen in her little jersey. She looks so happy, and I didn’t allow her to have this sooner.
I thought I was enough.
Tears burn in my eyes, and my nose itches as I lean into the counter. I almost make a run for it, to go hide in my room, but before I can do that, the door from the garage opens, and Thatcher comes through it. He’s freshly showered, his hair still wet and curling at the back of his neck. I can see the wet spots on his hat, letting me know he just threw his hat on without drying his hair. He’s wearing an oversized IceCats sweatshirt and a pair of gray sweatpants that are borderline indecent. Or maybe they’re only indecent because my eyes zoom in on his cock that is settled against his thigh.