Page 82 of Winning Brynn

Brynn:I know.

Brynn:I love you too.

Chapter Twenty-six

Brynn

Leo was gone whenI woke up this morning, his scent lingering on my bed sheets like freshly cut grass on a light summer wind. It's the only way I knew that he'd been there at all. That, and the absence of nightmares. They seem to stay hidden when I'm sleeping in the safety of his arms.

Now, I'm in the family suite of the Strikers' Stadium for their next home game of the season. The air whips in through the open roof, bitter and unforgiving, yet it's charged with the electric excitement of sixty-eight thousand fans waiting for the game to start.

"You doing good, baby girl?" I ask Salem where she lies in her stroller, fluffy blankets pulled up to her chin.

Her little cheeks are stained pink from the cold, so I pull her knitted hat farther over her ears and position her away from the wind, which, much to my mother's delight, has her facing my parents.

"You're so good with her, darling." Mom pulls her coat tighter around herself, burying her chin in the lapels. Her hair falls in a silver curtain around her face as she rubs her hands together before blowing into them.

"She's always been good with kids, Libby. No reason to sound so surprised." My father, a somewhat cantankerous man in his mid-seventies, holds a steaming cup of coffee by his chest with two thickly gloved hands. He takes a sip then grimaces. "God, this is awful."

"It's a soccer stadium, Dad, not a Parisian café."

He grumbles. "I knew Alex should've taken the transfer to Paris Saint Germain."

Mom rolls her eyes at her husband. "Well, it's good to see you anyway, my love. It's been too long since we last got together, but your father's knees aren't what they once were, and my hip has been giving me trouble again, so it's difficult to make it to Alex's games at the moment."

"I know, Mom." I smile reassuringly. "It's good to see you too."

Truthfully, I haven't made enough of an effort to see them since coming back from London. After trying for years to conceive their own children and following many failed IVF attempts, my parents adopted Alex and me later in life, so making the hour-plus drive into Seattle isn't as easy for them as it once was.

I reach across the seats to clutch her wrinkling hand. "I'm sorry I haven't made time to come up to Bellingham."

She waves me off. "Oh, sweetheart. Don't you worry about that." She smiles down at Salem in the stroller. "This little one has been keeping you busy, and we know how much time your internet work takes up."

Dad shakes his head. "Jesus Christ, Libby,internet workmakes her sound like a porn star."

"And we would be proud of her even if she was, wouldn't we?" She shoots him a pointed look in return. "We accept our children for who they are and respect their life choices."

"I'll keep that in mind if I ever decide to take the leap into adult entertainment."

"Good," she says, her expression completely serious. "I'm glad."

Dad slaps his corduroy-clad knees. "Well, now that that's cleared up, the game is starting."

Our gaze swings to the field, where both teams are walking onto the grass, each player holding the hand of a child kitted out in team colors. My eyes instantly catch on Leo, hand in hand with a girl who looks to be around Ivy's age. She looks up at him with a wonderstruck expression, fiddling with the hem of her jersey with her free hand. I watch as Leo bends down to whisper something in her ear, her lips instantly lifting into a beaming smile.

It makes my ovaries hurt.

"Look, it's Daddy!" I pull Salem from the stroller and sit her on my lap, pointing Leo out to her.

"And Uncle Alex," Mom says excitedly at my side. "Look, Jack. Look at our boy."

Dad grumbles again, but there's the tiniest hint of a smile shimmering on his face as he watches the pre-game ceremony.

My anger toward my brother has mostly dissolved since last night. One of the most annoying things about him is that I'm never able to stay mad at him for long. All it takes is a sweet text message, and my stupid, weak heart forgives him for being an asshole.

Still, embers of frustration still flicker within me—and, dare I say it, resentment.

Because no matter how well-intentioned he is, or how I know he's always coming from a place of protection and love, he can't try to keep me isolated from the world forever. It isn't healthy, and it certainly isn't fair, especially when he doesn't keep the same rules for himself.

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