Page 85 of Vital Blindside

I’m the luckiest dad on the planet.

30

SCARLETT

I help Mom out of the car, and she looks around us in awe. “Oh my. This is more than I imagined.”

I tighten my grip on her arm, feeling the same way. WIT’s festival is in full swing and busier than I thought it would be. There are crowds of people as far as I can see, and I’m sure the inside of the arena looks the same.

A carousel ride, rows of food trucks, and more carnival games than I could count on both hands fill the field around the arena. I know how hard Adam and Brielle have worked on the planning for this event, and judging by the turnout, it looks like all the late nights have paid off.

Adam has been so busy over the past week that we haven’t seen each other outside of our stolen kisses in the break room and coffee exchanges in the morning. He likes the fancy stuff that requires me struggling with the espresso machine, but his grin each time I bring it to him in a mug with a cheesy saying is worth the effort. The thought has me tightening my grip on my purse, conscious of the gift I have for him inside.

I miss Adam. Spending this week apart after everything that happened last weekend feels like some sicko’s type of torture. My brain has been working in overdrive to try and figure out exactly what comes next.

I know what I want, and that’s Adam and Cooper in my life and the job I love. It sounds simple, easy, but that would be naïve of me to believe. It will take some effort—a lot of it—but I’ve never been scared of hard work. Not when the reward is well worth it.

“We shouldn’t be surprised. Adam never does anything half-assed,” I tell Mom. She laughs beside me.

“No he doesn’t,” she hums, starting to pull me away from the car. Her excitement makes me happy, knowing how hard it’s been for her lately. “He certainly doesn’t love you half-assed. That man loves you exactly how a woman should be loved.”

My chest heats as I walk with her into the crowds. “Mom, don’t start.”

“I’m only speaking the truth. You’ve found what I couldn’t, baby. I can’t begin to tell you how happy that makes me, knowing you’ll be taken care of once I’m gone.”

The ground tilts, and I nearly lose my footing. “Stop talking about yourself as if you’re on death row. You’ve always been one for dramatics, but let’s keep them to ourselves for today, yeah? You’re not going to die anytime soon.”

The smell of cotton candy and popcorn has never been more putrid than it is now. My mood has soured exponentially in the past two minutes. Mom never would have spoken about something like this so out in the open a few years ago, but now she can’t help it.

“You’re upset with me,” she notes when we pass a group of teenagers huddled around a whack-a-mole game.

“I’m fine,” I say tensely.

There’s a break in the crowd, and I spot Ava, Gracie, and their husbands working a merchandise stand. I’m about to turn around and hide, knowing my attitude is about as grim as Death himself, but freeze when Ava spots me. She throws her hand in the air and shouts my name, in turn ensuring that everyone around us notices me as well.

“Shit,” I mutter under my breath before throwing on a smile and pulling Mom in their direction. “No more talk about death, please,” I beg her.

She throws on a bright smile. “A little faith, my love.”

Right. My bad.

“Scarlett!” Gracie greets me excitedly when we reach the table.

“Hi, beautiful.” Ava beams at me.

“Hey, guys,” I say, smiling slightly. Mom tugs on my arm, and I quickly introduce her to everyone. “Mom. This is Gracie, her husband, Tyler, and then Ava and her husband, Oakley. Guys, this is my mother, Amelia.”

“It’s so great to meet you,” Oakley says warmly.

Tyler smiles at her, and everyone tells her how happy they are to meet her. Mom eats it up, the little attention lover.

“Aren’t you a lively group. It’s a pleasure to meet you all,” Mom gushes.

As she starts to schmooze, I eye the table in front of the group with interest. It’s full of hockey gear speckled with the Vancouver Warriors and Minnesota Woodmen logos. Names of the players have been written on the tape labelling the items, and I grab a puck with Leo’s signature scrawled across the middle.

“What is all this stuff?” I ask. “Is Leo here?”

“I saw him around earlier. He dropped off some of his team’s gear about an hour ago,” Oakley says.

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