Page 133 of Endgame

It seems like we’re always in different seasons, but the intention we both put into our friendship makes it go the distance.

I can only hope Bodhi can live up to her challenge.

“You got it.”

50

DAKOTA

“Ms. Foster?”

“Hi, this is Dakota.”

It’s just past three in the afternoon, and I’m seated in my office, going through hundreds of photos from the fundraiser, editing them to the detail until they’ve reached my version of perfection.

I can’t wait to see the look on Jack’s face.

A phone call from my realtor pauses my work, providing me with much awaited news. It’s been three months since I listed my parents' house, and there hasn’t been much progress. I know it needs some work, but selling it “as is” looks like my only option.

No one prepares you for the heavy cost of renovations.

“Dakota, hi. This is Helen. I’m calling to update you on the property you have listed.”

This is such a bittersweet moment. I want to—no need to—sell it, but the idea of saying goodbye to the home I spent the last moments with my parents in, and all the love that filled it makes me incredibly sad.

“Great. What are we looking at?”

“Well, the property itself has been slow to show, much of that stemming from the spike in interest rates. We’ve been searching for a motivated buyer to connect with it and hopefully come with cash. That’s likely to be the way it will sell. Lucky enough for you, that’s exactly the offer we received. The buyer offered fifty thousand above the asking price, cash in hand. Congratulations, Ms. Foster, you sold your house.”

It sold.

The gravity of that feeling is heavy and emotional.

But this is what needs to happen. The money means nothing to me. I’m not greedy to make a fortune from something my parents worked hard for their entire lives. I want to get what it’s worth.

I plan to set most of it aside for the day I decide to start a family.

I hope whoever lives there next will fill the walls with love and happiness.

A thought comes to mind.

“That’s amazing. Thank you for making that happen, Helen. I do have one request. Am I able to meet the buyer? I know that’s an unusual question, but I’d like to see it one last time and meet the family who will call my favorite place home.”

“Of course, Dakota. I don’t see why that would be a problem. Let me contact their realtor, and I’ll get back to you on a date and time.”

“Great. Thank you.”

It’s beentwo hours since my call with Helen. I’ve beendoing everything to keep myself busy in the hopes that work will distract me from the potential freakout coming.

The last portion of the photos I have to edit is mainly of the guys and their ridiculous strip dancing. Surprising almost every woman with a living, breathing vagina, Gus flaunted and teased the better of them with his one-hundred-pack of abs.

Who knew so many squares could fit into such a small perimeter?

Not me.

The man doesn't have an ounce of fat on his body, and matched by his height, he’s lethal. If only he would cut out his frat boy shit, keep his dick in his pants, and settle down with an ordinary girl, he’d save the world from the expanded potential for disease and endless amounts of child support.

A knock on my office door steals my attention, but seeing an unrecognizable man hurrying away puts me on high alert even more.

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