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)
The heartfelt tone in her voice makes my chest squeeze, but her prior situation pisses me off. “Why? What happened?”
Sure, I know what happened on her wedding day and night. But I mean it more specifically—what went down the morning after.
Trouble is, now I feel terrible that I never really asked how she was doing—really doing—all the times I saw her at skating lessons. I didn’t truly check in with her. We agreed to pretend that night never happened and somehow, I took that to the letter, never asking about the other things that went wrong. Like with her other job, and her parents.
“I mean, how did you wind up there? In that place?” I ask quickly, trying to course correct.
She brushes some errant blonde strands off her cheek. “Rhonda,” she says brightly.
It takes me a few seconds to connect the dots. “The…Lyft driver? With the mismatched slides?”
“Yes! She had a friend who rented me the place. It was all I could afford in the city, since, well…I no longer had a job to supplement my skating business.”
“Right. Your parents…” I begin, but it pisses me off to finish the sentence. Fired you. So I don’t. Because I don’t want to let on that I despise her parents for how they treated her.
“Ironic, too, because my mother was the one who was so excited that my run at Glacé was ending at just the right time—her words—for me to devote my energy to wedding planning with her and doing some freelance accounting for my dad.” Sabrina waves a hand like she’s dismissing all of that. “But it’s fine. Really, it’s fine. I’d been living with Chad on and off for some time and making extra cash from my parents. I needed to do life on my own. That’s what I did this summer.”
My throat tightens with unexpected emotions. I’m…a little proud of her. That’s hard to do these days.
“And you did it?” I ask, focusing on the details she’s sharing.
“Somehow, I pulled it all off. I call it…The Summer of Odd Jobs and Moving On.”
Oh, hell. I try not to latch onto those last two words. Moving on. But man, are they ever music to my ears. “I couldn’t be happier that you’ve moved on beyond…Fuck Chad.”
A smile lights up her pretty face, making her freckles almost shine. “I haven’t heard that name in a while.”
“Good,” I say. “It’s best if he’s out of your head and out of your life.” It comes out sharper, harsher, than it probably should, but hell, that’s how I feel. That guy doesn’t deserve to be spoken of ever.
“How are things with your parents?” I ask, though I’m honestly dreading the answer for her.
She winces but then seems to do her best to erase the sadness as she swallows, then says evenly, “We don’t really talk. I mean, I went to pick up my things and my skating costumes, and my father kind of made it clear…I was a disappointment.”
I hiss.
I want to march up to her father and tell him what an ass he is. There’s a special place in hell for dads who treat their kids like that. “He’s wrong. You’re not,” I bite out.
When her eyes widen, I try to get a better hold of my reaction, holding up my hands. “Sorry, but I can’t stand parents who don’t support their kids. Who aren’t there for their kids. Who hurt their kids.”
She gives a sad smile. “Sounds like you’re speaking from experience?”
“My dad walked out on us when I was ten.” I don’t normally serve up my biggest hurt, but there it is. Something about Sabrina’s patent honesty makes me give her some of my own.
“I’m sorry, Tyler. That’s terrible.”
“It was, and he’s gone now. But I learned I never want to be like him.”
“Pretty sure you’re not,” she says.
And hell, I didn’t mean to make this conversation about me. And I probably shouldn’t be kicking so much dirt on her dad. I hardly know her. “I’m really sorry he said that to you, Sabrina,” I say as calmly as I can though my jaw is ticking with irritation. I hate that she went through this, but I’m impressed by how she handled it. But that’s not enough, so I add, “You’re a legend.”
Like I said in the note I left her the morning after her wedding.
The softness in her eyes tells me she remembers. “Well, I try. And hey, my family saying see you later all worked out in the end,” she says, brightly, and I’m not sure if she’s trying to be cheery about it all or if she really did make lemonade out of the whole situation. Knowing her, I bet she made lemonade. “When I wasn’t teaching skating, I was a mascot for the Cougars, did some freelance accounting, cleaned the gym sometimes, sold my ring, rented a micro-studio above a restaurant, and spent all summer smelling like garlic. And you probably noticed that during skating lessons.”