Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 114011 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114011 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
I giggle as we come to a stop at the path leading to my office.
“We’ll get through this. But don’t you spend all your time here. Make sure you’re at home with your kid too. Those are the hours you can’t get back.” He nods. “Now get up there and shake off this feely shit and get back to work.”
He tosses me a wink and walks toward the yard.
“Hey, Burt,” I call after him, my voice floating in the wind.
He turns and looks at me.
“Does this mean we’re friends?” I ask.
He shakes his head and grins.
“I need a friend, Burt.”
“You need something, that’s for sure.”
I smile at him for the first time and head back to my office.
CHAPTER FORTY
COLE
Just pick one.
My computer screen glows in a level that’s too bright for my hungover eyes. I don’t know how some people drink all the time. I feel like complete shit.
I scroll through the flights from Cincinnati to San Diego, opting to avoid Los Angeles, and Scott, after all. There are various options to choose from, and I’ve perused them all day. I just haven’t taken the plunge.
I’m operating in some weird state of limbo—unable to move forward, but I can’t go backward either. I’m stuck in Fish’s nice-ass apartment with nothing to do but field texts from my mother inquiring about my health and stability.
I lie to her. I tell her I’m fine. I tell her I’m out with friends and working on projects and making doctor’s appointments when, in reality, I’m just lying around and trying to distract myself.
But everything—everything—reminds me of Palmer. Movies all apparently center around a love interest, which I find annoying. Music lyrics are downright disrespectful. Even rap lyrics touch on a woman they want to be with, and it’s infuriating.
Can’t a man just get a song without a woman?
I get up and stretch out. I’ve put off booking a flight for the last four days. Why rush it now? What’s waiting for me in San Diego but a different, sunnier version of this?
My phone rings. I drop a hand and grab it, knowing it’s Mom with another angle to try to check in without being obvious about it.
“Hello?” I say with a note of sarcasm.
“Cole?”
I drop my arm to my side and perk up. “Ethan?”
“Yeah.”
His voice is rough. He sounds distant and hesitant, not at all like the boy I know him to be.
“What’s up, buddy?” I ask, my stomach in my throat. “Is everything okay?”
My mind races with a million thoughts. Is he hurt? Is Palmer all right? Did something happen? I glance at the clock. Who is with him?
“I just went for a walk outside,” he says, uncertainty riding in every syllable.
“Oh. Okay.” I scratch my head. “How’s baseball coming along?”
“It’s okay. We had a practice Saturday and another yesterday. Ted says we’ll probably lose a lot of games this year, but we can learn a lot.”
He said what?
My head steams as I think of the asshole who just took over the team—my team. Even though it’s not. How dare he say that to them?
“Who knows what will happen?” I say, trying to hide my feelings from Ethan. “Baseball is mostly about fun, anyway. Remember?”
“Yeah.”
I pace the floor and have the thought that I’m suddenly my father, wishing my boy would talk to me. Wishing he’d just open up and tell me what’s going on so I don’t have to worry.
Oh, the irony.
“How’s school?” I say, cringing as I really sound like my mother. Next I’ll be asking him about the weather.
Just talk to me, kid.
“It’s fine,” he says like he’s not getting to the point anytime soon.
“Ethan?”
“Yeah?”
I sigh. “What’s going on?”
I stop walking near the window and gaze over the city. Cincinnati is beautiful. It looks like an amazing city to check out, and I think about telling Ethan about it—asking him if he knows any cool places we could go to if he and his mom were here.
But then I stop.
Because that’s not happening.
My spirits fall to the floor, taking my heart right along with them.
“Do you remember telling me that it takes guts to tell people how you feel?” he asks.
“Yeah, I do. We were at your house playing trivia.”
“You also told me that you and my mom had something special going on.”
Fuck.
I grit my teeth to the point that I hear them grind together. The intense pressure in my jaw is much preferable to the state of pain in my chest.
“This is really complicated, Ethan.”
“Why do adults just say things are complicated when they don’t want to explain them?”
Damn kid. I smile sadly.
“Fair question,” I say. “Sometimes there are tricky topics that adults might think kids can’t quite grasp.”
“Maybe. But sometimes there are things that kids have to think about, and they can’t figure them out because adults won’t explain them.”