Page 119 of Dream Chaser
When I didn’t flinch at the wordallergic, she just pressed a hand to her chest, right over her heart. Didn’t have to say a word. I got it.
“Remember that online therapy session I told you about?” I ask, glancing her way.
She lowers her tea and narrows her eyes. “College? That girl you called a puck bunny?”
I laugh, dragging a hand over my face. “Yeah, her. Can’t believe I never told you I ran into her husband after the Philly game when we got diverted to New York. He FaceTimed her. She popped up on the screen wearing damn bunny ears.”
Grand blinks. “That’s either very odd or very sweet.”
“Both, honestly.” I shrug. “But that therapy session? It stuck with me. I felt like shit about the way I talked to her, the way Iused to talk about women in general back then. We dug into that. Real deep. And eventually … we landed on it being about Mom. Not just the anger I had toward her. It was the guilt. The weight I still carried, even when I told myself I didn’t.”
I roll up my sleeve and show her the outer bicep. The familiar Roman numerals inked into my skin.
Angela’s birth and death year.
“I remember,” Grand whispers, reaching out like she might trace the numbers. “You got that the minute you turned eighteen.”
I nod then turn my arm to show her the newer ink on the inside—two more sets of Roman numerals.
“The year I started therapy. And the year I finished.”
Grand’s eyes go glassy.
“I know her death wasn’t my fault. Not really. But this?” I tap the tattoo. “It’s a reminder of what I went through to believe that. On the days when it still creeps in, when I start to forget that I made it through, I look at this, and I remember I already buried it.”
She doesn’t say anything for a long time. Just takes my hand in hers and squeezes. I don’t need her to say anything, though. The look in her eyes says it all.
It’s not easy to leave, maybe even harder now that I know what it feels like not to be near the person who holds your heart. And even though she told me to stay there, I told her I’d be back before the season began, because she and I haven’t gone fishing yet.
I park in the same spot I did the first time I came here, feeling like a damn fool but not really giving a shit. I’m falling for IzzyRoss, and it’s like the big drop on a rollercoaster—your stomach flips, everything feels out of your control … and then you realize it’s the best part of the ride.
I know Izzy’s not home. I saw the brewery’s IG story a half-hour ago. But I need to do this now … before I chicken out. Before I talk myself into handling this the old way: avoid, deflect, shut down.
I knock. Jake answers like he was expecting me, just chuckling and stepping back, waving me in.
I toe off my boots and follow him to the kitchen.
Sarah’s back is to us, music playing low, a wooden spoon in her hand. Wile trots over, tail wagging, and as I crouch to greet him, Sarah turns.
“Well, hello, Griffon,” she says with a smile. “How was your trip?”
I scratch behind Wile’s ears. “It was good. Grand’s good.”
“Perfect. You want coffee? Tea?”
I don’t answer. I just open my damn mouth and word vomit all over their kitchen.
“I’m falling in love with your daughter.”
Jake’s brow lifts slightly. Sarah pauses.
“I know that probably sounds … sudden. But it’s not. It’s solid. I’ve never felt anything like this before. And yeah, the chemistry is insane—but it’s more than that. Way more. She sees me. Not the jersey, not the job. Me.” I laugh, awkward and nervous. “It’s kind of everything, actually.”
My fingers find the back of my neck. “The truth is, until Izzy, I couldn’t even look at pregnant women without my stomach flipping. Kids? No way. Not after …” I trail off. Swallow hard. Keep going. “When we lived in Okinawa—my dad was stationed there—I was five, Angela was three. There was a street vendor handing out free samples, and I gave her one. Nobody knew shewas allergic. Nuts. She ate it. She went into anaphylaxis. And she didn’t make it.”
Sarah sets the spoon down.
“My parents didn’t know she had allergies. I didn’t, either. But I was the one who gave it to her.”I’m repeating myself.“And I’ve spent most of my life believing I was cursed, that I didn’t deserve love or responsibility, and I sure as hell couldn’t be trusted with either.”
