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 shake my head.
“Something happened,” she says. “I’m not saying this was right or good or that if he walked in right now, I wouldn’t karate chop him in the balls.”
I smile the biggest smile I can manage. She returns it.
“But there’s more to this story. There has to be.”
What does it matter if there is? It’s not going to fix anything. Whatever he’s committed to in California is going to be full time.
But what he didn’t say was whether other factors were involved, and that says all I need to know. Cole knows communication is key in relationships. He told me that. So if he’s choosing not to talk to me, then he’s okay with our . . . whatever we had ending.
I close my eyes and try to find my happy place. At the moment, that would be anywhere but here. Just as I mentally begin to detach—ironically to a place that includes Cole and a bed—the sound of the front door opening rings through the house.
“Who is that?” Val whispers.
“Mom!” Ethan’s voice arrives in my room just before he appears in the doorway. “Mom?”
Oh. No.
Oh no.
Please, no. Not yet.
I sit up and realize my worst nightmare: having to break my son’s heart while mine is still bleeding.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“I came to get my baseball glove.” He looks between Val and me. “What’s wrong?”
Val turns to me. “Do you want me to . . .”
“Kirk’s wife is pretty sick,” I say, clearing my throat. “It’s been a really sad day.”
This explanation does nothing to assuage his fears. They’re still written all over his freckly face.
What’s left of my heart cracks. The raw edges slice my chest like a thousand knives because I know I have to tell him about Cole now. He begged me to stop protecting him by delaying news about Jared, and I think this is going to somehow hurt him even more. I can’t make it worse by waiting and have him not trust me too—even though I’m going to wait to tell him about his father. At least until I have more details.
I cough. “Ethan, I need to tell you something else.”
“Okay.”
“Cole was just here . . .” I stop and gather myself just before my voice trembles. Get it together. “Something happened, and he had to go to California.”
“For how long?”
I lace my fingers with Val’s in the blankets. “For . . . probably forever, buddy.”
Watching him process this information tears me apart. He shifts from one foot to the other. His brows rise, then furrow. His shoulders slump just before his head cocks to the side in confusion.
“What about the team?” he asks.
I shrug. “I think Ted is taking it back over.”
His bottom lip quivers. “What about . . . you? And me?”
His hands come together in front of him as if he’s in prayer. He shakes his head in disbelief.
I climb off the bed. But as I start toward him, he backs away.
“Honey, I know you liked him. I did too. And he liked us. A lot. He hated to have to go . . .”
He tries to speak, but something goes wrong and he coughs instead.
“I know this sucks,” I say, my voice breaking despite my best efforts against it.
“Yeah.” He bows his head. “I’m gonna go back to Sandbox’s.”
“Do you want me to get your glove out of the car?” I ask.
He smiles at me. It’s not one of joy or happiness. It’s one that crushes whatever I have left of my spirit.
“Nah, I’m good,” he says. “Bye, Val. Bye, Mom. Love you.”
“Love you too,” I whisper.
I don’t chase him down the hallway like I want to. I don’t think that’s in either of our best interests.
Damn you, Cole.
“Do you want me to go talk to . . . Sandbox’s mom?” Val asks.
“I’ll text her in a minute,” I say, staring at the spot my son’s just vacated. “I just . . . This is what I wanted to avoid all along.”
“I know.”
“And I failed.”
I take my phone off the bed and type out a quick message to Sandbox’s mom. Because my eyes are blurry and my head is a mess, I have Val double-check it and hit “Send.”
Then I fall back against the bed as the tears form again and cry myself to sleep.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
COLE
I hold my head in my hands. Either it’s heavier than I’ve noticed or my hands are weaker. Either way, I sit on the edge of the bed in my parents’ guest room and try to talk myself off a ledge.
How could things have been so perfect this morning and such a clusterfuck this evening?
The recent memory of making a list of things to accomplish so I could move to Bloomfield, and be with Palmer, stings.
God, why does it have to be this way?