Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 99017 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99017 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
“And eat cotton candy because it’s the best cotton candy. Even better than at the circus,” Ava adds in a wheedling whisper that makes Clover laugh again.
But it’s a breathier sound, and her eyes stay locked on mine as she nods. “Okay. In that case, I’d love to come. I’m so glad you liked the sign. The girls and I worked really hard on it.”
“I loved the sign,” I say, my throat tight again. “So much.”
“Good,” she says, seeming a little choked up, too. “For a second there, I was worried. You had man tears.”
I huff out a laugh. “Yeah. But they were happy man tears. Lucky man tears.” I kiss Bella’s cheek again as I hug Ava closer to my side. “This wouldn’t have been half as good without you guys here to share it with me. Thank you so much for coming and cheering and being my family. I love you so much.”
“I love you too, Daddy,” Ava says, as Bella hugs my neck, declaring, “I have the best Daddy!”
“Be right back,” Clover says, backing across the room. She waves a hand as she goes, calling, “Just need to hit the ladies’ before we leave! Too much lemonade!”
“Okay, we’ll wait for you here,” I assure her, turning back to Bella as she pats my cheeks with both hands. “Yes, my lady?”
“Daddy, can we play the basketball game at Packy’s, too?” she asks. “And will you help me like last time? Hold me up high so I can throw the ball in good?”
I nod. “I sure will. I can’t wait.”
And I can’t.
It’s a special night, a night for celebration, and I can’t help but feel like something is shifting in the air. Changing for the better. The girls are a long way from the grieving “finish line,” if there even is such a thing, but they’re getting stronger every day.
Clover’s helping them so much. She’s helping me, too.
She’s helping me realize that I’m not frozen inside. I’m still alive, still capable of love, longing, and connection, and maybe…
I shut down the thought, concentrating on reintroducing the girls to Mimi, Grammercy’s stepdaughter, who’s clearly as thrilled about the Packy’s Pizza plan as they are. She’s a few years older than Ava, but the sweetest kid, and goes out of her way to make the girls feel like friends. After introducing them to her baby sister, a ridiculously happy little girl with Grammercy’s wife, Elly’s, eyes and his dimpled grin, they run to the window to watch the fireworks exploding over the city.
“Are they for you, Daddy?” Bella asks as we join them.
I grin. “No. They’re practicing for the Super Bowl, I think. It’s tomorrow.”
“All that for football?” Mimi says with such utter disdain that we all laugh, and Grammercy snatches her up, hugging her tight as he says, “That’s my girl, you know what’s what,” in French.
I think that’s what he says, anyway. My French is rusty, and those two semesters of college were a long time ago.
But as Grammercy gathers Elly close with his other arm, whispering something else that makes her blush, I think maybe it’s time to brush up on my French. And my romancing skills. I can’t put them to use with my nanny, obviously, but sooner or later, I’m going to meet another woman who makes my chest light up, and I want to be ready.
I’m ready to start living again, not simply surviving.
And what better time to start than tonight?
Thirteen
CLOVER
The dash from the family holding pen, down the hall to the ladies’ room, is a blur of damp-haired hockey players, reporters, staff, and puck bunnies angling for a chance to sneak into the team’s inner sanctum, but I barely see them, and I don’t make eye contact.
I keep my eyes on the ground and my feet moving.
I’m a woman on a mission, my grip on my cane so tight that the golden shark head bites into my palm. My leg isn’t hurting that much tonight, but at this point, my cane is a security blanket. And right now, it’s the only thing keeping me from vibrating out of my skin.
I can’t think straight.
Hell, I can barely breathe, not until I’ve pushed through the heavy restroom door into the bleach-scented silence.
Alone. Finally, alone.
Thank God.
Relief hits me like a physical blow. It’s almost painful, the sudden slackening of tension that leaves my knees feeling like goo. I stagger to the far side of the line of sinks, propping my cane against the wall before bracing my hands on the counter and sucking air.
What the fuck is happening?
And why does it keep happening?
Yes, I’ve been a more emotional person overall since the accident. But having your entire life turned upside down, your dreams threatened, and your future as a mostly whole human being put in jeopardy while you deal with chronic pain will do that to a girl. And I’ve found ways to manage. Stalking the internet for clues with Plato, my hacker bestie. Meditation. Long baths. Zoning out to reality television. Screaming into Nutasha’s soft, stuffed squirrel tummy with rage when the reality that the asshole who did this to me is getting away with it scot-free gets to be too much.