Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 97875 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97875 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
How many kids did this person have? Surely it couldn’t all be the same kid.
What kind of bumper stickers would she and Robbie have on the family car? Hypothetically, of course. If she hadn’t blown the whole relationship to smithereens.
He’d definitely have to slap something hockey-related on there.
Our kid ate your honor student. Easily.
She’d let him put whatever bumper stickers he wanted on the car with the caveat that she be allowed to get her dream license plate. 3XUROUT. If their kids turned out to be competitive freaks like their parents, that car would always be parked outside of arenas and gymnasiums and fields, just like the one in front of them.
Thinking this way was pointless. Premature, too. Skylar hadn’t heard from Robbie since Thursday night when he left Rhode Island in an Uber, and she didn’t even know if he wanted children. These tales she’d been weaving in her mind since that awful night were a form of self-punishment and she couldn’t seem to stop doing it. Upon waking up every morning, she opened her eyes and thought, What would Robbie say if he was waking up beside me right now?
I’m starving was usually the front-runner.
Skylar rubbed her weary eyes and dropped her head back heavily against the rest. “Get out of the car,” she urged herself, hyperaware that she only had ten minutes before she was due on the field for warm-ups. “Go to the locker room. Change. Wake up.”
Not so easy, it turned out. Her legs didn’t want to work, let alone her pitching arm.
Instead of exiting the vehicle, for the one-millionth time she went into her Notes app and read through the various text messages she’d drafted to Robbie. None of them were good enough to send. He’d probably already moved on in spectacular Robbie fashion, anyway, and she couldn’t blame him. At some point, she’d have to do the same, but . . . she didn’t want to. That was the problem. She wanted to stay right where she was.
In love with Robbie Corrigan.
That’s where she was supposed to be.
Skylar turned off the engine with a choppy grab, using the back of her hand to swipe away the excess moisture in her eyes. She stepped out into the cool spring evening, popping her trunk to remove her equipment bag, settling the strap on a shoulder that only wanted to droop.
After securing the trunk lid and locking the car, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, beginning the shaky walk to the locker room entrance. As she approached, the voices in the distance grew louder. Her younger teammates and their loved ones exchanged final well wishes before the players disappeared into the red double doors. Her parents never walked her to the entrance on opening day, though she’d always wished they would—
Skylar slowed to a stop when she heard her father’s unmistakable chuckle, followed by her mother’s high-pitched titter. Elton’s sarcastic tone. They were waiting outside the locker room? Really? She’d known they were coming to her home opener, of course, but they usually just went to their seats and waved to her during warm-ups.
As she got closer and noticed they were in the Boston University T-shirts Robbie had bought them, Skylar almost turned around and ran back to her car, because everything north of her belly button tightened at once, her neck tendons turning like cranks, her tear ducts burning. But she couldn’t turn back now, because Elton had spotted Skylar, giving her that smug/dry smile reserved only for siblings.
This is what she needed. A boost from her family.
She’d take it, then do her best to get focused.
“Well, if it isn’t legendary pitcher Skylar Page,” Elton said, too loudly. On purpose.
“Hey,” she called back, forcing a smile and reshouldering her bag. “What are you guys . . .”
That’s when she noticed the man standing beside Elton. He’d been crouched down tying his shoe. But he stood to his full, impressive height now, red hair visible around the edges of his Bearcats cap, his gaze cutting through the agony of the last few days and stopping Skylar in her tracks. The bag slipped off her shoulder and landed with a shoof on the ground, her pulse flying into a chaotic sprint. She couldn’t find any words, probably because they were all twisted around her vocal cords and squeezing.
“Hey, Rocket,” Robbie said, levelly.
Still mad at her. Still mad. “You came?”
“Didn’t I say I would?”
She zipped her gaze to the ground and left it there while she tried to swallow the emotion in her throat. Looking at him was too hard when she needed to be composed. Focused. When she finally gathered enough wherewithal to lift her chin again, though, Robbie was standing directly in front of her, his broad shoulders blocking out everything behind him.
“Hey,” she said, lamely, unable to meet his gaze. Staring at the slight cleft in his chin, instead. Or was that a dent from a puck?