Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 114951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
He rubbed Ariana’s arm with a prideful smile, and she leaned into him like she loved him more fiercely than anything in the world, like he’d given her the best gift.
He has, you stupid motherfucker, and she does love him.
They are married, in case you forgot.
The reminder was a stinging one, and it had me shaking my head at how foolish I was being, searching her for clues she was unhappy because selfishly, I hoped she never could be happy with him — or with anyone who wasn’t me.
If my stomach was sour before, it was a rotted pit with that realization.
All those years ago when I made the choice I did, all I wanted was for her to be happy. Now, here she was, as happy as she could be — married to a rich, handsome man whom everyone adored, who took care of her, who knew giving her the Sweet Dreams initiative would bring her joy.
It seemed I was the only one who wasn’t charmed by him, and I would be lying if I said I didn’t know why.
Sure, I didn’t agree with all the choices he was making for the team, but he was doing what any new GM would — shaking things up.
My disdain for him rested solely in the fact that he had Ariana, and I was jealous.
Once again, I was behaving like a selfish little boy. It was like I couldn’t fucking help it when it came to her.
I internally shook my head at myself before taking a deep breath and giving a real smile, one I hoped Ariana could see was genuine. “I’m really happy for you, Ariana. I know the program will thrive beneath your charge.”
“Thank you,” she said, her gaze a bit questioning.
“If you ever need help wrangling the team to get involved, just say the word,” I added.
“Oh!” Nathan snapped his fingers, as if a light bulb had just flickered on in his brain. “That’s genius, actually. We could have the players out in the community, delivering mattresses and taking pictures with the kids. I like the optics here. Shane, can you work the first few meetings into your schedule and get on board with Maven, Grace, and my beautiful wife here?”
“I’m sure he’s too busy to—”
“Of course,” I answered, not letting Ariana finish her assumption. “It would be my pleasure.”
And for the first time that night, I didn’t have to force my smile or veil a lie.
It would be my pleasure.
Anything to have more time with Ari.
Dead End
Ariana
2007-2008
A year passed in a blur of stupid, incredible, all-encompassing young love.
Summer in Boston belonged to me and Shane. We spent afternoons sprawled out on the Charles River Esplanade, watching boats drift by as we listened to the new Snow Patrol album. We wandered Quincy Market, splitting lobster rolls I couldn’t afford, but Shane bought without blinking, and on sweltering days we’d sneak into the rink just so he could skate while I shivered on the bleachers with a smoothie in hand. Nights were lost in each other, tangled in sheets until the sun cracked the blinds and we swore we’d lie there “just five more minutes.”
Against his coach’s advisement, we rented a tiny one-bedroom apartment near campus together. Shane had wanted to get something bigger and more modern, and he could, with the money his grandparents gave him. But I insisted that I be able to split the cost. And so, we ended up in a small, but quaint, place. The pipes clanked, the windows stuck, and half the outlets didn’t work — but it was ours. We painted the kitchen a bright, reckless yellow because it was my favorite color, and even though it looked a little like vomit in the end, I still loved it. We bought mismatched furniture from thrift stores, piecing together a home out of scraps. And in that crooked little apartment, I learned what it was like to belong to someone — and to be chosen back.
That summer, I met his grandparents. I was terrified, since all I’d heard of them was that they didn’t really seem to know what to do with Shane when he landed in their lap. But they hugged me tightly and asked me questions with genuine interest. They opened their home to us and seemed prouder of Shane than he realized. And, compared to my family, they were like angels on earth.
Shane also met my family that summer, though I’d rallied against his first suggestion that he come with me when I had a weekend planned to visit home. I thought the shame would kill me; thought he’d run the moment he saw the cracks in my family’s house. But he didn’t. He played with my little brother until he conked out for a nap, exhausted in the best way, and he helped my mom in the kitchen with the dishes after dinner. I overheard him telling her she’d raised the strongest daughter in the world, and I’d smiled so furiously my stepfather had raised a brow.