Page 21 of Catching Feeling

“It’s nothing,” he responds simply.

But he’s wrong.

It’s everything.

4

reese

It Ain’t About How Hard You Hit

I’m a morning person.

I love waking up early and setting myself up for success by getting the things I need to do out of the way first.

It’s something I learned from my dad. When I was little, he’d wake me up, and we’d have breakfast together before it was time for school. And even though he was heading into the office for meetings, our time together was never rushed. He actually gave a shit about what was happening in my life and always made a point to give me that uninterrupted time.

I cherished those moments as a kid with him, and as I got older, we continued our tradition. Except he’d wake me up even earlier, and we’d get some weights in or a run before having breakfast.

My pops is my best friend. We’re close, and college is the first time in my life that I’ve been away from home, and fuck, I miss having him here for those early mornings. We still FaceTime a few times a week with Mom, but it’s not the same.

I shoot a quick text to our family group thread that includes my little sister, Rosie.

Speaking of…

I click her contact and press Call, bringing the speaker to my ear.

A few rings later, her groggy, sleep-filled voice answers.

“You better be dying. It’ll save me from having to murder you,” she rasps. I can hear the sound of covers shuffling as she moves.

“What? You don’t like my 6 a.m. wake-up call? It’s Monday, baby sis. Time to wake up and take on the day,” I say cheerily.

Oh, did I mention that Rosie is the exact opposite of me in almost every aspect possible?

I barely skate by with my grades, and she’s a bookworm.

I’m a morning person, and she stays up till 5 a.m. reading one of her raunchy romance books that I will admittedly say are quite good when you get to the juicy shit.

I’m ADHD as fuck, and Rose is the most organized, punctual person I’ve ever met. She has planners and a full schedule on her iPad, where she checks things off daily.

I just write shit on my hand when I need to remember it.

When we were little, I struggled to focus in class, and even being three years younger than me, she researched ways to cope with ADHD without medication and taught me everything she had learned.

She’s my fucking heart, that girl. I’ve always been the one she calls when she needs someone, and I hope that never changes.

When she grunts instead of answering, I laugh. “Let me guess, you stayed up all night reading?”

“Actually, I went on a date, thank you very much.” My eyebrows rise. Dating isn’t really Rosie’s thing.

I wonder if I should play the cool brother right now or the protective one because I kind of think that he and I, whoever he is, should have a little talk if he’s going to be spending time with my sister.

“Okaaaaay. Tell me more.”

She exhales, long and dramatic, before scoffing. “Total tool. He asked me what my bra size was, so I asked him what his IQ was.”

“That’s my girl.” I grin. “Want me to beat the shit out of him? I’ve been needing to burn off some aggression. Seems like the perfect opportunity.”

---