Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 141425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
In the morning, I wake up to—what the hell?
Is that a carrot hanging around my neck?
And a sign that says: Be Right Back. Auditioning for Olaf.
Sabrina’s sound asleep, but my two kids are smiling at me, like they’re up to something.
What, I have no idea.
41
HYPE MAN
Sabrina
On Sunday morning, Tyler’s busy with the heating repair woman—I wanted to shout, Go, lady boss when a tall lady with coiled hair and blue coveralls arrived from the company she owns. My car is charging, so I grab Tyler’s from the garage and run the kids to see their friends—Luna is going to spend the day with Mia and Mia’s grandma (and Mia’s dog, Luna points out), and Parker is going to his friend Jamal’s house since he got a “sweet new volcano kit” for Christmas.
When I return, I park right outside since Tyler needs to leave any minute for the arena.
Once I’m inside, the repair woman is shoving her work boots back on at the front door. “It’s toasty downstairs now,” she says, pointing to my apartment as she grabs her toolbox. “Don’t hesitate to call if it goes bananas again though.”
“We won’t,” Tyler says as I come to stand beside him. “Appreciate you coming out on a Sunday.”
“That’s the job,” she says, then tilts her head, brow furrowed like she’s studying us. “You look familiar.”
I’m sure she’s about to say something to Tyler about blocking some shots today against Phoenix. But she doesn’t look at him twice. She’s studying me.
“Hey! You do those skating videos. Sabrina on Ice!”
Oh. I’ve never been recognized before. I feel a little glowy. “That’s me,” I say, beaming from the inside out.
“A few months ago, I got hooked on all these adventure sports videos. I watch them in between calls, and then you showed up on my feed and I watched all your performances.”
“Wait till you see the new one she’s going to post. It’s stunning,” Tyler says, with so much passion and pride. “We shot it yesterday outdoors, and it’s incredible.”
“I’ll be watching,” she says.
Before she can open the door, Tyler adds, “And she’s going to be performing at a Sea Dogs game next weekend.”
I swat his arm. “Tyler,” I say, admonishing him—but secretly loving that he’s telling her about me. Everly did reach out after all and confirmed a time for me to perform again, and I can’t wait.
“I’ll be there,” the woman says.
“I’d be happy to get you good seats,” Tyler offers, and wow, he is my hype man.
“You’re a doll,” she says.
He waggles his phone and says he’ll be in touch with the tickets.
When she leaves, I give him a look. “You’re like my personal publicist,” I say.
“Damn straight,” he says, then grabs his wallet from the table by the door. “And I need to get to morning skate. Then the game. Dinner tonight? Here?” His voice pitches up, full of hope, like he’s asking me on a date.
“Of course,” I say, and I’m loving these dates. They make me feel like the next steps are possible, like it’s not too soon for me to fall again. Like maybe I got it right the second time around.
He loops an arm around my waist and tugs me close. “No kids here now,” he says, then drops a quick, hot kiss to my lips that leaves my bones buzzing.
He trots down the steps. “See you later, Sabrina.”
As I watch him stride to the car, I feel…settled, calm and happy. Peaceful too. I sigh contentedly.
But then my attention snags on a man walking toward the house. He’s polished and put together in tailored slacks and a blue oxford-cloth shirt on a Sunday.
My father.
42
A LITTLE BIT RIGHT
Sabrina
Two questions prick at me as I stand in the front entrance.
Why is he here and how does he know where I live? Not…how are you? Not…how is Mom?
But as soon as that last thought lands, worry crawls up my throat, turning into dread. That has to be it. “Is Mom okay?” I ask, some ancient, primal concern jostling to the front of the line.
I don’t want her to be sick. I don’t want her to be gone. Why else would he be here? Or could it be…for me?
He strides up the steps, pressing his hands down, as if to say don’t make a scene. “She’s fine, Sabrina. Of course she’s fine,” he says, dismissing me. “Don’t raise your voice.”
I jerk my head back, then hold my arms out wide. “I didn’t! That was a normal tone.”
“She’s fine,” he says again, crisply. “How are you?”
Wait. My head spins. Did he actually ask that? Does he…care how I am? For a second, I relax my shoulders. Maybe this is a détente. Maybe he came to say he’s sorry. A kernel of hope lodges in my heart. “I’m fine.”
“Good. I’m glad,” he says, then stops a few steps down and looks around, as if he’s assessing the steps and the front porch with its flowerpots, filled with native plants. “This is a nice place,” he observes.