Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 87255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
“You’re setting yourself up for failure,” I whisper into the night.
My chest pulls so hard that I wince.
Call it jet lag, but a strange surge of energy bleeds through me. I carefully untangle myself from Blakely, pressing a kiss to her cheek and tucking her back beneath the blanket before I get up. As quietly as I can, I grab my phone and sneak out of the room.
The house is eerily quiet. The only sound comes from the waves through the open door in the living room.
Restless, I find myself on the patio overlooking the water below. The bright moon hangs high in the sky, casting its glow on everything below.
I grip the railing and hang my head—reality hitting me like a player on the pitch.
“If either of us starts to develop real feelings for each other … Then we walk away immediately. No questions asked.”
She said that for a reason.
I get it. I understand why Blakely wouldn’t want to be with a guy like me. I’m problematic and unreliable—at least, according to the world. I’m foolish, according to my father. I’m selfish and crave independence, if you listen to me.
So why in the world would she be interested in me?
I grit my teeth.
A week ago, I had a best friend, a solid working contract, and a lull in my never-ending war with my father. Tonight, I have none of that. But I have her. And when I think about it, I really only want her.
“You’re getting fucked up,” I mutter, taking out my phone and checking the time. I do some quick math and realize Brock will be awake.
It rings three times before he answers. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I say back, leaning against the railing. “We haven’t heard from you. Blakely is getting worried.”
“Oh, but you’re not?”
I laugh. “Well, I’ve been a little preoccupied.”
“Renn? Don’t. That’s my little sister.”
I laugh anyway. “All joking aside, are you okay? I know you’re still pissed—or I would be, anyway. But that’s all it is, right?”
He exhales harshly through the line. “You’d be pissed?”
I shove off the railing and wander aimlessly around the patio.
My admission probably opened a door to a new argument with Brock, but that doesn’t make it any less true. I would be madder than hell if Brock married Bianca in a drunken haze. There’s no doubt about it. She deserves better than that … and so does Blakely.
I suck in a breath. “I’m sorry for all of this. It was careless and irresponsible—and I should’ve kept my head together that night and taken care of your sister like I said I would. My life is a shit show at all times, and it was shitty of me to put her in a position to be in the middle of it.”
He stills and says nothing.
“But, dammit, Brock …” I run a hand through my hair. “You have to know that I wouldn’t hurt her, right? Tell me that you know that I will do everything I can to protect her from any fallout. I mean that.”
I stop at the loveseat and stare off into the night. It takes him a long, tense couple of minutes to reply.
“I appreciate the apology,” he says. “I know you mean it.”
A sigh of relief leaves me.
“You know,” he says, “I’ve been thinking about this—and other things—a lot since I’ve been home. I was so fucking angry with you both for getting into this situation … and I was mad that you added another load of stress on me.”
My brows pull together. “Another load of stress on you?”
He sighs heavily. “I had my physical a week ago for the upcoming season. The doctor told me that I’m fine, first of all. I’m not dying or anything.”
I release a breath. “Fuck you for that.”
He chuckles. “You’re welcome.”
“So what did he say?”
“Doc had me participate in this study about white matter in the brain of athletes. I go in every six months or so and have some testing done. It’s supposed to help gather data so they can learn how to identify brain injuries in people with repetitive head impacts—like us.”
My stomach drops to the ground.
“And apparently I show signs of neurological damage.” His words hang in the air. “He can’t say that for sure because this technology isn’t perfect. But he highly suggests that I retire.”
Oh fuck. I sit on the loveseat.
I try to process what he’s telling me without panicking or jumping to conclusions. How long has he known this? Has he told anyone or is he dealing with this on his own? Is there more to the story that he’s not telling me?
Damn you, Brock.
“Are you okay?” I ask. “You’re all right, though, aren’t you?”
“I’m fine. I mean, I feel fine. But now I have to make this decision about whether I want to believe him and walk away from the game, or risk it and play out my contract.”