Page 32 of Married to Number 22
But it’s fucking terrifying watching him out there.
It’s the collisions that have me holding my breath. The sticks flying and pucks shooting across the ice far too fast, hitting the glass and boards, and sometimes the players, with sickeningthunks. Speaking of which, they all skate at warp speed with gear that doesn’t seem thick enough to protect them and?—
Carrie bumps her shoulder against mine. “Gonna breathe, kid?”
“I hate watching him,” I whisper. After, for the record, chewing my mouthful of popcornandtaking a long, slow breath.
“You do?” she asks, eyebrows drawn tightly together.
“I worry about him,” I whisper. “A lot of the guys are bigger than him and he might get hurt.” Another hugeboomechoes through the arena, loud enough to be heard over the cheering crowd and I flinch. “I know he’s good, that this is his job. But that almost makes it worse. What if he doesn’t get hurt, but instead messes up and is upset with himself, and—” I break off, knowing I’m being ridiculous. It’s a regular game for a season that’s only just barely gotten underway. Yes, Aiden and his team want to win. But this isn’t a make-it-or-break it match up.
It’s just one game of many.
Of eighty-two, actually.
“Anyway,” I murmur. “It’s great that he’s out there. I’m just…stressed.”
Carrie’s expression is soft.
But she doesn’t call me on my nonsense, only bumps my shoulder again. “You’re sweet, Luna. You always have been.”
I’m not sure about that.
Especially, considering why I showed up, what I was hoping to do…
No.
I don’t want to think about that. Not right now.
I just…want to enjoy tonight and then move along with my problems, leaving Aiden to his uncomplicated life without fathers who are merciless and brothers who don’t care and dead grandmothers who meant well but threw a giant curveball into my life that I cannot seem to figure out how to navigate.
…and to Luna, dear. I leave you this personal letter. Read it privately and if you manage to fulfill my request within the next calendar year, then my shares of Smythe Industries are yours to do with as you see fit. Trust the process, break the curse, and know I love you so, so much. But if, after that year, you haven’t succeeded, then the shares will revert on a fifty-fifty split to your father and brother.
The bequest shouldn’t be legal.
But somehow it is.
Something I know because my brother and father have spent the last eight months fighting it.
And every legal challenge comes back stating her will is iron clad.
“I’m not sure that Aiden would say I’m sweet,” I whisper.
She smirks. “I don’t think I’d take that bet.” A beat. Another bump of her shoulder. “Though, I don’t think I want to think about him and you being wicked…” She winks.
I narrow my eyes at her. “Anyway,” I mutter. “Enough talk about me and your brother. I want to hear about you, about what you’ve been up to.”
“Kids. Work. Husband. Rinse and repeat.” She grins when another crash reverberates through the arena and I jump. “I love the kids. Love the husband. And my job on most days. On others I want to tear my hair out strand by strand because my boss is nice, but swear to fuck, he has the man gene where. He. Just. Doesn’t. Listen.”
I fight a smile.
Then lose my battle when Matt mutters, “We listen. We just don’t care.”
I giggle.
Carrie sighs, shakes her head.
And we all turn back to the game.
