Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 97382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Which is why I brought my mom and Tía. They not only give me a sense of safety, but they also distract people from me. Both of them have such big personalities, no one noticed that I threw up in the suite bathroom because my nerves were going wild. It’s not that I’m nervous around his family—I know most of them, but of course, I let my brain convince me that they would all hate me.
It isn’t until I come out of the bathroom and Louis grabs me and shakes my arm that I take in a deep breath.
“Listen, you could have six arms and legs, and everyone here would love you,” he says, his smile so kind. Like Dawson, he is very handsome, chiseled jaw and the brightest green eyes. He doesn’t have the dimples, but his lashes make his eyes seem so much brighter, like he is able to look into your soul. “Come on. You haven’t met my aunt Avery yet, have you?”
Avery is with her daughter, Ashlyn, who is cuddling Hadley, the baby of the Sinclairs, into her side. It’s wild how much everyone looks like everyone else. They all have the same eyes, but with the features of whoever married into the family. It is so loud, but also so loving, in the box. I come from a small family—my dad had no family, and neither did my mom, other than her sister—but this room has over twenty people, and you can tell they all love one another.
Do they get along? Not at all.
It’s absolute chaos.
I’m pretty sure Charlotte just kicked Louis in the balls as he holds a cupcake over his head. Ashlyn is giving everyone a death glare. Baylor is trying to clean up the mess that the kids made, while Claire is chasing her kiddos, who made the mess. Avery keeps trying to get everyone to calm down, but then Jace, Jude, and Jayden break out in a game of tape ball hockey in the small space. All the wives and their mom protest too. The kids love it, though—hell, even Tía joins in. It’s overwhelming but also so heartwarming.
This is the chaos that raised Dawson.
And I love it.
When the game starts, just like he said, I end up in the front right beside his dad. Jayden gives me a smug look, and I roll my eyes.
“Yes, Mr. Sinclair?”
He snorts, his eyes crinkling at the sides. While Dawson does mirror his mom, he also has a lot of Jayden in him. Like the slope of his nose, how his jaw dips a bit before meeting his chin, the fullness of his lips. Jayden’s emerald gaze cuts to mine, and he shakes his head. “Nothing is going on, huh?”
I look away shyly, my cheeks burning with color. “Things happened.”
“You can say that again,” he says with a laugh.
And that is all that’s said.
From the moment Dawson hits the field, I’m transfixed by him. While he wears 60 on the ice, on the field, he’s number 6. Apparently it’s the closest thing to sixty… I just nodded when he told me.
I have to remind myself, we listen and we don’t judge.
Today, the team is wearing their all black uniforms with small teal accents, and I have to admit Dawson looks so fucking sexy. He’s all big and towers over a lot of his teammates. He doesn’t have an undershirt on like some of his teammates since the weather is cooler, so I’m able to admire his thick biceps and veiny forearms. His large hands wrap around the ball just as they do around my hips and throat.
Um, this is not the place to be thinking that…
The whole box is on their feet when Dawson is on the field, and when he’s not, they are doing whatever they need to before he goes back on. The support for him is beautiful, and I’m not surprised he hasn’t made a choice. Why would he, when they show up like this for him, no matter the sport?
“What do you think he’ll choose?” I find myself asking.
Jayden swallows, shaking his head with a stern look on his face. “He looks damn good down there, but when he’s on the ice, all I see is a player of his mom’s and my caliber, and I know that’s where he belongs.” I nod in agreement, and he looks over at me. “What do you think?”
I shrug. “I think it’s his choice, and I’ll support whatever he wants.”
His dad grins. “You are Rowe made over, aren’t you?”
I laugh, leaning back to recross my legs. “He did nickname me Ro, which he said was for Ambrosia, but I think it was for his name.”
We both laugh at that as we go to stand once Dawson hits the field again. I swear I can hear him from where I am as he yells out plays. When he throws the ball, I find myself holding my breath in anticipation of the receiver catching the pass. When the defense breaks the line, I fully expect to see him get hit, but he’s just so fast. He does this sliding thing with the ball tucked to his chest like a teddy bear and his legs out in front of him that shouldn’t be cute, but it is. While I love him on the ice, I have to admit, watching him on the field is a sight to behold.