Page 109 of Someone to Have
“Yeah, I did that.” His smile fades. “I’m not going to literally beat your ass, but there are repercussions for messing with my sister.”
“I wasn’t trying to mess with her.” I rub two fingers over my chest like I can press the guilt and heartbreak back down where it belongs. Because what right do I have to be butt hurt that she chose someone else when I was too much of a coward to ask her to pick me? “ButI’m still sorry. She deserves better than me, and we both know it. You should be happy I’m leaving. You should just let me?—”
“Fuck that.” Toby shakes his head. “People change, Anderson. I gave you a lot of shit for your reputation, but you’re not that guy anymore.”
“How can you be sure?” Because I’ve spent every night this week going over all the reasons why I lost her and zero scenarios where I get her back.
“Dude. You’re so damn squeaky clean you should be in aTide commercial. Taylor saw it before the rest of us because she’s always been a better person.”
“She’s the best person,” I murmur.
“Maybe you don’t think you’re the type of guy who deserves her, but I hope like hell you nut up and try. I like having you around. Plus, I don’t want Tink to end up with some super douche who’s gonna cry when I beat the living shit out of him at ping pong.”
“You want to be pummeled instead?”
Toby leans back and laces his hands behind his head like he’s already won. “Bring it on, Romeo. But yeah, I want a guy who sees all the weird little pieces of her and doesn’t try to change one damn thing. Can you be that guy?”
“If she gives me a chance,” I answer solemnly, “I’ll spend every day making her feel like she just won the Stanley Cup and I’m the one handing her the damn trophy.” While I might not be the one in need of a confidence coach right now, hope glimmers in my chest.
It’s time to stop being a coward and open myself to love. It’s a risk—one that could end up with my heart crushed into a million pieces instead of just a thousand—but Tinkerbell is worth fighting for. And I’m nothing if not a competitor.
I may not know how to recite Shakespeare or discuss great works of literature, but I know how to dig in when the game’s on the line and earn every inch of ice. Like Toby said, it’s time I nut up and start fighting for the woman I love.
He gives me an approving nod. “Good enough for me. You gonna eat those chips?” He’s already reaching for the bag.
I push them over to him.
“What about the pickles?”
“Don’t touch my fucking pickles.”
He holds up his hands. “Relax, dude. Nobody’s coming for your pickles. But now that I’ve used my exceptional emotional intelligence to mentor you through your crisis with my sister, can we talk about more important things? Like our next home game.”
I laugh and massage a hand over the back of my neck, the tension slowly releasing. It’s a comfort to know not everything has to change at once.
“Let’s talk strategy,” I tell my friend. “I’m thinking we make the other team cry.”
36
TAYLOR
I forcea smile as I stand behind the refreshment table at the town Valentine’s Day dance. The event is a fundraiser coordinated by Iris in her role at the Byrne Family Foundation, raising money for local youth literacy programs. Despite my strong desire to curl up on my sofa, Pop-Tart in each hand, I’m watching couples spin around the parquet floor set up in the center of Skylark’s community barn.
Molly is volunteering with me, and if nothing else, I’m happy to be here for her. She’s had an even worse week than me. Her twins were off school for several days with strep throat, and her mother-in-law—who begrudgingly helps with childcare when Molly is desperate—is away on a cruise with her Bunco group.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you right now,” my friend says as she fusses with the handmade decorations and dried flower bouquets.
“I can’t believe you grew all these flowers on the farm. They’re gorgeous, Mol.”
She takes a deep breath and wipes the back of her hand across her forehead. “I haven’t slept in four nights, so maybe it’s a feverdream, but I’m pretty sure I just got booked to do the flowers for a wedding next month.”
“That’s amazing,” I tell her as pride swells in my chest, a nice change from the hollow ache lodged there since last weekend. “You don’t even need a bucket list challenge because you’re already kicking so much ass.”
She laughs and tosses her long red braid over one shoulder. “I have plenty of challenges,” she assures me. “You can tell me which is worse. The fact that my kids are seven, and I’m still wearing nursing bras, or that I can’t afford to move out of my mother-in-law’s house. She finds a way to remind me that her son’s death is my fault at least once a week.”
I gasp and instinctively reach for her. “What are you talking about?”
“Ooops.” She shakes her head and moves away, her smile forced. “Forget I said that. Too heavy. We’re at a Valentine’s dance. This evening is all about love. Do you have anyone special you’re hoping to be your Valentine?”
