Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106772 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106772 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
These people had had no clue Nova even existed until they’d read Miri’s obituary, and now they wanted visitation. To do what—brainwash her? Not on my watch.
My hands clenched into fists under the table. I bit the inside of my cheek. A habit I’d formed to keep me from crying was now keeping me from lashing out.
If they wanted to see Nova, they could prove it.
“If you can tell me Nova’s birthday, I’ll introduce you right now.”
Everyone waited while Victoria’s mouth opened and closed, like a fish looking for water.
“That’s what I thought.” I stood, pushed my chair in, and gripped the back. “All you had to do was apologize and accept her for who she was. That’s all she ever wanted from you: acceptance.”
I left the room with Weston and Cutter hot on my heels and headed out back. My parents would make sure my message was loud and clear. Cutter wrapped me in his arms, hugging me tightly.
“They can’t take us, right?”
I shook my head as best I could. “No, I’ll never let that happen.”
First thing tomorrow, I’d reach out to the lawyer I’d hired and tell her to get the paperwork for guardianship in front of the judge as fast as possible and pray the Vaughns wouldn’t push the issue any further.
If they did, I’d fight.
Chapter 28
Weston
I stayed at Miriam’s until shortly after her parents left. I’d dealt with a lot of shitty parents in my time as a teacher; even as a professional athlete, I’d encountered a handful, but none of them compared to the Vaughns. I cringed at having to even refer to them with the same last name as the family I’d grown to love.
In baseball, we used to joke about the brass balls of someone, the audacity. Miriam’s parents had the biggest I’d ever encountered. Who waits until their daughter has died to try and form a relationship with their grandchildren?
Kenneth and Victoria, that’s who.
Honestly, I shouldn’t have been surprised, especially after what Antonia had told me about them. I’d never really expected them to show up. They’d written Miriam off years ago; why care now?
Scout greeted me at the door, hungry and needing to go out. I hadn’t spent much time with him today because of the service and wake afterward, but I was grateful to Jerome for coming over to check on him.
I let him out while I made his dinner, and once he’d finished, we went out back and tossed his ball. Each time I threw it, he’d return it and then wait for me to chuck it out into the yard for him. We did this until my arm got tired and Scout’s tongue looked like a permanent fixture hanging from the side of his mouth.
While he drank his weight in water, I showered quickly, and then afterward, Scout and I sat on the couch and flipped through the channels.
This past week had been odd, knowing Miriam had passed away but seeing Cutter at school and practice. I had excused him from practice for the week, even though we were getting ready for our first playoff game, but he was there. He put in the time and the effort, and he did what I asked of him without quitting.
I scrolled through the online guide until I found a college game. I turned it on and leaned back, closing my eyes.
The clanging of weights startled me awake. I rubbed my face to clear the sleep away and looked at my watch. It was after eight, and I figured Cutter was in my garage, taking his anger out with some lifting.
“Some guard dog you are,” I said to Scout as I stood. He didn’t bother to move as I made my way toward my garage. I opened the door, surprised to find Antonia instead of Cutter.
She stood at the heavy bag, punching, slapping, and kicking it. Without saying anything, I went over and held it for her, to give her a solid, unmoving target.
Antonia screamed and hit it again and again. Tears streamed down her face as she whaled on this bag as if it had hurt her somehow.
Each hit had to hurt. She wasn’t wearing gloves, and I suspected her knuckles were splitting open. But also, I imagined each blow felt good and was somehow cathartic. This was the perfect way for her to release her anger, the rage she felt inside. Her friend had left her, and no matter how well you prepared for it, the gaping wound left behind would take a lot of time to heal.
Antonia stopped. Her chest heaved, a combination of exertion and crying.
“She’s gone,” she said, her breathing labored.
“I know.” I felt it safe to move, so I stepped out from behind the bag and reached for her hands. Her knuckles were red and likely bruised, but the skin hadn’t broken. “I’m going to put some cream on them.”