Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
“Oh, how fun,” Willa says with clapping hands.
“Forget the baby steps for now,” Tempe says. “I want to hear about the kiss.”
“Almost kiss,” I correct her. “And I’m not sure what it means. It’s complicated because we’re co-parenting and Grayce is the priority. It’s all just a little scary.”
“But scary doesn’t mean it’s wrong,” Tempe says, folding her hands. “It means that it’s risky. And without great risk, we have no great reward.”
Winnie leans closer, eyes bright. “He told Lucky you’re brave. That you came to Pittsburgh when you didn’t have to, and he said that took more courage than he had.”
“He did?” My voice tilts, unsteady. It sounds as if he’s proud of me. “He kind of dared me to come today, but nicely. I’ve never had girlfriends before, and this is out of my comfort zone. He challenged me to get out of my own way.”
Willa claps again. “We love a dare. Also, we love mimosas.” She tips hers toward me. “And we definitely love a woman who’s not afraid to hold her own.”
The table turns as one, smiling at me like I’ve passed some invisible test. I laugh, nervous but warmed by the attention. I feel no judgment, just acceptance.
Part of me feels the old instincts I’ve lived by—scan for danger, stay alert, don’t get too comfortable—kicking in. If you prepare for disappointment, it won’t wreck you when it comes. It’s how I’ve always survived.
But sitting here, the mimosa glass sweating in my palm, I realize I don’t feel the usual urge to bolt. Not completely. Maybe because Atlas has been knocking holes in my fortress for weeks now, showing me the outside world isn’t completely devoid of humanity. Maybe because these women aren’t asking me to perform, they’re just asking me to sit with them.
And maybe for once, I don’t want to hide behind the walls.
Winnie grins. “And today you showed up.”
I exhale, a small smile tugging at my lips. “Today I showed up.” It feels enormous to admit.
It also feels… good.
Plates arrive—pancakes that smell divine, eggs sprinkled with herbs, a fruit salad that looks too pretty to eat. For a while, we just do brunch. Forks scraping plates, napkins dabbing, mimosas being sipped.
When the plates bear only crumbs and the second round of mimosas is a memory, Mila reaches into her tote. “We have something for you.”
My heart dips. “What kind of something?”
“A good something,” Winnie promises, eyes sparkling.
Mila sets a cream notecard in front of me, thick stock with a crisp edge. My name is handwritten across the front: Maddie St. James.
I try to suppress the surge of giddiness at being offered a surprise. I didn’t get birthday cards or gifts. Christmas happened to kids with parents who cared. I slip a thumb beneath the flap and slide out the card.
Maddie,
I’m thrilled you’re here and even more thrilled for Atlas and for Grayce. If you’d like to see what we do up close, I’d love to host you for the next home playoff game in the owner’s suite. No pressure—only an open seat and a very good view. Bring whoever you like (little ones welcome for pregame).
Brienne
My eyes sting. “Is this normal?” I ask, voice not cooperating.
“Brienne’s not normal,” Willa says fondly. “She’s better.”
“She takes care of the people who take care of her people,” Farren adds. “That includes you.”
I run my finger over the ink like I can feel her intention in the loop of each letter. “I don’t know if I belong in an owner’s suite.”
Winnie taps the paper, gentle. “You belong where you’re wanted. That seems pretty clear.”
I swallow, giving a small nod. “Okay.”
Everything feels heavy, but then Tempe says, “Did you know that Rafferty kissed me before he ever spoke a word to me?”
My eyes widen. “You’re kidding. Tell me everything.”
Next starts a round of stories on each woman’s meet-cute with her guy and I understand a little more of the dynamic. These women are all brilliant, confident, and know what they want.
Conversation drifts after that, the women slipping back into easy banter about future brunch meetups and which of them is brave enough to host a game night with all the players and kids under one roof. I listen more than I talk, but the difference now is I don’t feel like an outsider eavesdropping. I feel included. Like my chair was always meant to be at this table.
We pay our bills, we hug, we make overly ambitious plans to do this again “soon.” At the door, I turn back and find six women watching me with the kind of attention I used to associate with assessment and judgment. I don’t feel that at all, and that’s important for me to remember.
Outside, the day feels brighter, like someone turned up the saturation. I walk to my car with Brienne’s card in my pocket and the oddest ache in my ribs. I’ve never had girlfriends. Never sat at a table and been tugged into a circle like it was the most natural thing in the world. It feels like a muscle I didn’t know I had, finally stretching.