Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 115763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
And I just fucked that up. Majorly fucked it up.
But I’m not a coward. I’ll take my lumps. I’ll figure out how to make it up to her. Somehow, some way, someday, she’ll forgive me for this.
I trudge back to where I left her, but she’s not there. For a moment, I panic that something happened to her, too, but logic starts to prevail as I retrace our steps. When I find her back where I originally ran into her, close to an antique store I know she frequents, she’s staring at the door, slack-jawed, her eyes vacant as she squeezes them shut, then pops them open, staring at the store across the street.
“What are you doing?” I ask carefully. It’s entirely possible she’s lost it. I know Dom jokes about it sometimes when she gets going on one of her weird tangents, but right now, she looks like she might’ve actually broken her brain.
“Rewinding the last thirty minutes so this never happened. Did you catch the guy?” She looks at me with hope-filled eyes, but when she sees my empty hands and sour expression, she sags. “No, no, no . . . this can’t be happening. It’s not real. Just a nightmare I’m gonna wake up from . . . right now.” As she declares it, she pinches the shit out of her arm before I can stop her and then cries out at the sharp pain, glaring at her arm like it’s betrayed her too. “Fuck. Fuck a motherfucking duck.”
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” I say soothingly, catching her in my arms and preventing her from doing further damage to herself.
But she fights me, jerking around like an electrified worm. “No, it’s not, Griffin! That ring was everything! Literally everything! And now it’s gone. And it’s your fault.”
It’s not. It’s the thief’s fault, but from her perspective, I can see why she’d think it’s mine. I even feel guilty . . . for not seeing him coming, for not punching him when he got too close, for not catching him.
“I’ll fix it. I’ll figure something out,” I mumble, not sure what in the hell I’m saying, but willing to say or do anything that’ll stop the tears that are now running down Penny’s face. She’s getting heavier in my arms as the reality hits her harder and harder with every passing moment. “I’ll pay you back for the ring. Whatever you paid, I’ll give it to you.”
That’s apparently the wrong thing to say, because she snorts in derision, finding her feet to stand against me. “Ten thousand dollars, Griffin,” she snaps. “You got that floating around in your savings account? ’Cause I don’t. It’s on a credit card that’ll be due in a few weeks. I’ll have to sell everything I have to pay that bill. I’m gonna end up selling feet pics on OnlyFans, and you know I have wonky toes from skating my whole life. Nobody’s gonna pay ten thousand dollars to see these jacked-up piggies.”
She holds a foot up in the air as if proving her point despite having on tennis shoes that hide her not-at-all ugly feet. Not that I’m into that. Or care about people who are. I’ve just noticed everything about Penny over the years. And her feet are fine, cute even, but now doesn’t seem like the time to remind her of that, especially if she’s thinking of selling pictures of them.
I make good money as a professional hockey player, but it’s not as simple as a lot of folks seem to think. After taxes, agent’s fees, and more, a big chunk of my game checks are eaten up before I ever step foot on the ice each week. But I have long-term investments and savings, thanks to my accountant, who makes sure I’m not going to end up one of those guys with more debts than brain cells after I retire, so I can swing it. It’s just going to take me a bit to get that kind of liquid cash to give to Penny. But I will.
“I do. I’ll pay the credit card, and it’ll be like this never happened.”
She looks at me warily, probably thinking I’m fucking with her, and I get it. This isn’t me, not the way I’ve treated her for five years. “It’ll always have happened. Even without the financial loss, I was so excited to redesign that ring. It was going to be the masterpiece that took my business to the next level.”
The anger I can deal with.
I’ve dealt with it my whole life—from my parents, teachers, coaches. And I’ve got plenty of my own, too, and am used to tempering the fiery flames and heat. But the hurt and pain in Penny’s voice now? The sound of her hopelessness and glum outlook on her future? That guts me. And I can’t wipe that away with a stack of cash.