Page 105 of Love Lessons
He kisses my hair. “Thank you for trusting me with that.”
“You’re hilarious.”
“I know.”
I trace a slow circle on his magnificent chest. “When I was seven, I lived in California with my mother. She was an addict. And possibly mentally ill. She had a boyfriend, and they used to do a lot of drugs together.”
“Oh honey,” he says. “That sounds rough.”
“It was, but it was a really long time ago. And my mother lost custody of me after her awful boyfriend dropped his lit cigarette on me. We were sitting on the couch, and I’d fallen asleep.”
“Shit,” he whispers. “God.” His arms tighten around me, as if he could go back twenty years in time and prevent anyone from harming me.
I snuggle into his tight grip and finish the story. “The top I was wearing had some kind of flammable design on the front. That’s what burned me so badly. But the asshole woke up fast and basically ripped it off me when he realized I was on fire. He dislocated my shoulder, but the burn was confined to my stomach. It could have been so much worse.”
“Still,” he hisses. “Did he go to jail?”
“I don’t think so,” I admit. “But my mother put me on a plane to Nonna. That was the only other flight I’d taken before Italy. On that first flight, I was recovering from a hospital stay, and I’d figured out I might never see my mother again. I cried for the whole flight.”
He pets my hair with soft hands. “I’m really sorry that happened to you, sweetheart. And I’m sorry if anyone ever made you think that scar was ugly. But I don’t think it is. Because it’s part of you.”
I squeeze him tightly. “You say the nicest things.”
“Nah, that’s just how I feel. And I’d like to punch the guy who told you different.”
“He didn’t, actually,” I say slowly. “I think I told myself. When your mother can’t even be bothered to stick around and keep you safe, you internalize a lot of things. Like always trying to look pretty and be perfect.”
“Huh.” He strokes my skin with loving hands. “I’m here to show you how the other half lives, if you’ll let me. The messy, loud, imperfect half.”
“I’m a big fan already,” I tell him.
THIRTY-SIX
Big Fat Box of Popcorn
IAN
In the morning—inspite of the crazy, eventful night I just had, and the lack of sleep—I walk to the Bruisers’ headquarters feeling clearheaded for the first time in months.
O’Doul’s text had asked me to meet him in the players’ lounge before the meeting.Be early. Bring coffee,it had ordered. I duck into a deli and buy us two large cups, black. Neither of us cares much for the fancy stuff.
God, I’m going to miss that guy. This early morning huddle is probably just his way of making sure I’m okay. I ought to resent it, but I just can’t find it in me.
When I reach the lounge, he’s seated alone on the sofa, his feet kicked up onto a coffee table, his arms propped back behind his head in a posture of thoughtful repose.
“Are you gonna miss this place?” I ask as I take a seat beside him.
“You know I am. But this life has been good to me. I get to decide when I’m leaving. I get to go out on a high note.” He sits up and cracks open the drinking spout on his cup of coffee. He takes a gulp before he turns to me. “But enough about me. I made my decision about the captain’s nomination.”
“Good deal, man. You know I’m here for it. This team has been good to me, too. You can count on my support no matter what happens.”
He gives me a funny smile. “See, I know that about you already. I just spent some time trying to make you see it for yourself. But you are one stubborn dude.”
“You don’t have to worry about me anymore, I promise. I’m in a good place.”
He pulls a sticky note out of his pocket and hands it to me. “This is when you’re meeting the rookie from Boston. Do you want me to come?”
Oh. I look down at his scrawl. “Does that say October third? Kind of a long time from now.”
