Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 82955 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82955 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
I run my finger over the carving that’s aged with the tree and become forever a part of it. I can still see the image in the trophy showcase that I used to pass on the way to the locker room every day of high school. “Yeah. It stands for Charlie Season number seven.”
“My dad?”
Lowering my arm, I look down at Autumn, who has her eyes glued to the carving as if she’s seeing her dad himself. When her gaze pivots to me, she asks, “How do you know that?”
“Because before I broke state records as quarterback, your dad did. The number on his football jersey is seven. It was officially retired when he passed away and hangs in a case at the high school.”
“Will you take me there?”
CHAPTER 21
AUTUMN
I’m still dumbfounded that the simplest answer was the right one. The CS was easy to figure out. The number not so much, especially since the only one who knew anything about football was my dad. Dolly claims to be a fan, but I think it’s more about the “cute” players, as she calls them. So, it’s not so shocking we didn’t think about his high school football days. I can’t wait to share this new intel with my sisters.
Nudging Brandon covertly under the edge of the tall counter, I shield my mouth from witnesses on the other side of it, and whisper, “I thought Mrs. Carson was eighty when we went to high school. How is she still working here?”
He eyes Mrs. Carson, who had a running joke back in the day that she’s worked here since Eisenhower. “Ready to have your mind blown?”
“I’m ready.” Any walls we were bumping into with each other have just about fallen completely, and everything has become so much easier. And fun. I smile so much around Brandon that my cheeks have ached the past few days. “Blow it, baby.”
He leans over and whispers in my ear, “She never worked here on staff. She volunteers.”
“What? Why would she want to work in this daily dose of fresh hell?”
Mrs. Carson levels me with a glare over the top of her glasses when she looks up from a cabinet in the back. Grabbing the six-inch binder, she drops it in front of us with a thud that sends my hair flying off my shoulders. I still can’t believe I’m back here, much less that I’m seeing familiar faces. We spent our formative years in this high school, or what I like to call it—the scene of the crime when it comes to Brandon. I remind myself that I’m maturing and letting it go. At least trying to.
With a lot more wrinkles than she did back then, I remember her always saying teenagers would age her beyond her years. She’s not wrong. She taps the paper with a ballpoint pen, and says, “Sign in here, Autumn Season, and don’t forget to date it. Also, make sure to stop by the office before you leave to sign out.”
I’m not sure why everything is directed at me as if the six-foot-three-inch giant doesn’t exist next to me. I’m probably reading too much into it, though.
I swear if I flipped through a decade of the sheets tucked in this binder, I’d find old signatures of mine. I’d probably find my parents as well if I went digging. Apparently, Mrs. Carson has decided technology be damned.
After scribbling my signature, I hand the pen to Brandon. I look up to find Mrs. Carson still glaring at me like she’s offended by my mere presence. “So,” I say, resting my arm on the counter between us and hoping to break the cold-as-ice stare. “How have you been?”
“Busy trying to keep teenagers on the straight and narrow.” There’s no crack in her demeanor, no welcoming smile, or any indication that she even likes me. Though I have no idea why she wouldn’t. I haven’t seen her in years. And I was a good student, dammit. Every teacher liked me back then. “I heard you ran into some trouble down at the hospital and were on your way out.”
My pulse is fast, my blood pressure rising. Being blindsided wasn’t on my bingo card, but here we are with me desperate to keep my jaw from hitting the counter and smarting back. Anger burns hot in my chest as I mentally flip through every imaginable employee who would snitch or knows anything about my situation at the hospital.
Stacy.
No way. She would spread rumors or, in this case, truths.
Debbie, the other daytime nurse?
I don’t take her for being cruel. She’s always been so nice to me, at least to my face.
Joyce or Carrie from critical care?
It’s not like the entire hospital knows what happened between Ludlow and me. So I don’t know what she’s heard or how she’s privy to that information, and I don’t care. But I do care what Brandon thinks of me. And the last thing I want to do is embarrass him as an unintended consequence.