Page 16 of Hot Shot
I want to laugh but I don’t. Coffee is another of life’s luxuries I force myself to live without. Although if I’m honest, it was the least difficult to give up. “Haven’t so much as sniffed a cup since I left New York.”
“Oh.”
Funny how that one small word tells me she gets it. “Get inside out of the cold. I’ll come in and help you make breakfast when I’m done.”
Dammit. I’m dismissing her when I promised myself last night—after our chat at my bedroom door—I’d do my best to not avoid her or the elephant in the room.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean that like it sounded,” I apologize.
“Didn’t you?” She places a hand on my shoulder but remains behind me, my body probably shielding her from the cold breeze. “You’re still in defense mode. Protecting your goal. I don’t know what happened because you haven’t told me, haven’t told anyone, but, Bran, I’m not here to hurt you. I’m not here for an explanation or apology. I’m here because I think you’ll fit into the Rogues roster and be an integral part of the team, of our success. And because I will always be your friend. You will always be able to rely on me.”
“Blake.” I swallow back the tears her words bring. “I don’t deserve your friendship.”
“Youdon’t get to decide that.” Her fingers dig into my shoulder. “Ido.”
“I’m not worthy.”
The laugh that bursts from her is short and sharp, a scrape over my nerve endings that puts every hair on my body on end. “You don’t get to decide that either. My friendship is mine to give, not anyone’s to take.”
“I betray?—”
“No. The only thing you did was close yourself off from me. From everyone. We never would have judged you. Least of all me. Take a close look at those who love you, no one has stopped the way they feel in spite of you shutting yourself away.”
“How can anyone love me when I hate myself?”
“I don’t think you really hate yourself. I think you hate what happened and the way you dealt with it. Time to come out of hiding and live again, Bran.”
I’ve been here so long, ignored everything outside of this little house in the woods for months and months. Hell, I don’t even know how long it is. Two years? Three?
No. Yesterday would have been Laura’s third birthday. Not quite three years then. Over two years of hiding away, licking my wounds. Letting the cuts Celeste inflicted fester.
And they have festered.
Fuck.
I need to get back in control.
I need to stop letting her dictate my life.
Hiding out, cutting myself off from everyone I once relied on has done nothing to help me get past the circle of hell my life is—no,was. Because it is in the past, my life is no longer being sucked into the depths of hell.
But it’s not anything else either.
The coward I am has done nothing to move on, to pick up the pieces and go on.
And I need to do that. Pick up the pieces, fit them together, and get back to living.
Except I don’t know where to go from here—how to live when the life I envisioned was destroyed by lies, and the life I was living before it was cruelly ripped away, was someone else’s.
I know I have to claw my way back. Have to find the right path, not to where I was but to where I should be now, where I can reclaim myself and possibly the sport I loved. I just…
“I don’t know how to live anymore.”
“Good thing you’ve got a friend to help you, a family who loves you. And a multi-million dollar contract ready to sign.”
The laugh that leaves me sounds rusty and pulls at muscles in my gut I haven’t used in too long to remember. “You had to dangle the contract.”
“It’s why I’m here.”
