Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
“Okay.” He nods. “Let me know if you need anything.”
“Thanks, Bryson. I will.” Before he walks out, I add, “It’s mine. Lush is mine.”
His forehead wrinkles. “Okay…”
“I just wanted you to know. I’m not the manager, it’s mine, and you’re doing a great job.”
He seems struck speechless, mouth hanging open. All he can do is nod.
After Bryson closes the door behind him, even though everything inside me is screaming that doing an online search is a bad idea, there’s no stopping myself. Self-preservation is thrown out the window. How can I not know what he said?
Bryson was right. Some of it is about Hayes and Donovan, but most of it is about me…saying I’m toxic, how I have family issues and was controlling, jealous, that I was promiscuous and slutty and hadn’t been faithful to him. That all the things he did, I did to him—all these vile things that aren’t true. He uses against me the things I did trust him with—my mom, my uncle—to make it look like he was the good guy, just trying to have a relationship with this man who didn’t know how to love himself.
And he’s partly right—I didn’t know how to love myself. If I had, I would have walked away from him long before everything went down because Malcolm was mean. He reinforced every negative thought I had about myself. He never made me feel good about myself. He made everything my fault. Just like he did now.
I’m not a perfect man. I have my faults, my insecurities, but I’m not what Malcolm says I am. I didn’t do the things Malcolm says I did. And maybe I didn’t know how to love myself then, but it’s something I know how to do now.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Kason
The locker room is loud, excitement high from the win tonight. Shootouts are never my favorite way to end a night, but after overtime, when it was still tied at three, we didn’t have another option.
“Fuck yes, Madsies! That’s what I’m talkin’ about!” Rylan throws a sweaty arm over my shoulder before giving me a noogie. We’re half out of our hockey uniform, both of us bruised and stinky but fucking flying.
“Did you doubt me?” I tease, giving him a soft hip check.
“Fuck no!” he says, right before Kennedy jumps on us from behind, making us pull apart and almost stumble, cheers and laughter going up around us.
I strip, grab my shit, and head for the showers. The hot spray of water on my muscles makes me moan. I could stay here all night. Games like tonight are even more exhausting than others, but they make you feel alive. I can’t wait to talk to Anthony to see what he thought. He works, but he still manages to keep up as best he can.
Despite how good the water feels, I find myself hurrying through my shower. Anthony always texts me while we’re playing, and I haven’t checked them yet. When it’s a stressful game, I find ten or more texts, which makes me ridiculously happy. I turn off the water, wrap a towel around my hips, then head back to my cubby. Sitting on the bench, I pull my phone out, a smile already on my face, and…nothing. Not a single message from Anthony.
My stomach begins to twist, like a tornado building up steam in my gut. Maybe he’s really busy tonight? That’s clearly a possibility. It’s not like I should expect him to sit around work all night worrying about my hockey game. Or maybe something is wrong? I try to shove that thought from my brain. Anthony is fine. Everything is fine. So he didn’t message me. Big deal.
Still, I can’t stop myself from wanting to check in with him, just to make sure nothing is wrong. I call him, but it goes directly to voice mail. As long as I’ve known Anthony, I’ve never known him to have his phone turned off. My nape prickles uncomfortably. I try again as if something will have changed in five seconds, but it goes straight to voice mail again. Every single bad thing that could have happened bombards my brain—an accident, all sorts of unrealistic scenarios, but the one that throbs and makes the most noise is Anthony being hurt.
“Hey, Ry?” I turn to my best friend to ask if he’s heard from Hayes, just as he comes over, his face somber. My heart nearly punches a hole through my chest. “What happened? Is Ant okay?” The worried tremble in my voice is impossible to miss.
“Hayes, Donovan, and Eric are going to Lush to check on him. They tried to call, but his phone is going straight to voice mail. I’m gonna kill that motherfucker.” Rylan’s tone is sharper than any I’ve heard from him.
“What happened? I don’t know shit.” But I have a feeling whom it involves, and I’m going to want to kill the motherfucker. I already do.