Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95606 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95606 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
“There is a certain risk involved,” Reese said, her words clipped.
“Not anymore.” His vocal cords were charred. “Not anymore.”
Reese knew his father had married Chloe’s mother. He could see that knowledge in the tilt of her head, the wringing of her hands. She’d been keeping tabs on him—and really, he couldn’t blame her. She had a lot to prove and didn’t want to make a bad investment. Was he a good investment, though? A hockey player needed heart to sustain greatness and his had been ransacked.
David smoothed his tie, laughed a little uncomfortably. “Can someone fill me in on the subtext here?”
“I want to play somewhere else.” He dropped the words like a bomb, but he was too numb to feel any of the reverberations. “Anywhere but Boston. I need to get out of here.”
“Sig,” Reese began, panic beginning to creep around the edges of her cool exterior. “We do not underestimate your incredible value to this organization and that is reflected in what we’re offering—”
“Yeah? It’s two weeks too late.”
His agent was already on his feet, moving swiftly out of the room. “I’m going to make some calls.”
“Get me out of the division, too. I don’t want to come back here. I don’t want any fucking reminders of . . . this place.”
“Don’t throw away what you’ve built here,” Reese said quietly, closing her eyes, as if she knew she’d already lost, but didn’t know how to quit. “We’re offering you a uniform with a C on the shoulder. You’re not going to waltz onto a new team and automatically get the patch.”
“I probably shouldn’t be anyone’s captain right now.”
She allowed some incredulity to bleed into her expression. “Don’t you think some time is going to make it easier? Being without . . . her.”
“Not a fucking chance.” Reese couldn’t fathom the devastation inside him. That was obvious. “I hope you never have to feel anything like this.”
“I won’t.” She opened her mouth, closed it, sputtering slightly. “I wouldn’t let myself.”
Now, Sig did laugh. And it was as ugly as he’d imagined. “Good luck with that, Reese.” There was nothing left to say, so he stood on sore legs. More so than usual, because he’d been pushing himself in practice like a demon, almost hoping for an injury. Some pain to distract him from the agony. But now, he was thankful to be healthy and uninjured. That was going to be his ticket out of here. Out of Boston.
Away from the only girl he’d ever love.
“You’ll hear from my agent, I guess.”
“Don’t do this, Sig. With Burgess retiring . . .” She held her hands up, palms out, in an imploring gesture. “Don’t gut the team.”
He was already walking out the door, nothing but the howling of wind in his ears.
CHLOE DROPPED HER fingers from the harp, accepting murmurs of welcome and congratulations from the musicians exiting the stage around her. Her very first practice sessions had just ended, but there would be three more over the course of two days to prepare Chloe for her first performance with the orchestra. Yes, in two days’ time, she would debut as the first chair harpist, right there on the stage in Symphony Hall.
Her mother would be there. With her new husband.
Front row, of course.
Truthfully, Chloe wasn’t sure she wanted Sofia and Harvey there at all, but she didn’t currently have the energy to stop them. Or construct the boundaries that had been a long time coming with her mother. She would be erecting them soon, though. Oh yes, that day had arrived. It arrived as soon as the realization sunk in that her mother had eloped to keep her from Sig. Because while Chloe had abhorred the idea of hurting Sofia, her mother hadn’t given her the same consideration, had she? No.
So, yes. As soon as Chloe could think straight, she’d put some sturdy walls in place and keep them clearly marked.
Grace had gone to Amsterdam, leaving Chloe the keys to her penthouse, so she could continue to practice on the Harp of Destiny, which she’d come to think of as her own. Not that she’d be mentioning that to her mentor, who’d sent her a picture in the middle of the night of a cello case propped against her bedroom wall, a bra hanging from the neck. Had she reconciled with her girlfriend? It appeared so. And Chloe was happy for her, in a my-chest-is-hemorrhaging kind of way.
She was the last remaining musician on the stage now, silence settling over the rows of black leather seats. Her gaze tracked up to the chandeliers glittering above, the statues of angels and saints tucked into the ceiling’s perimeter. It was a glorious place. The hall where she’d always dreamed of performing—and she’d gotten there through sheer force of will. She’d stopped ignoring the possibilities in front of her and reached. Taken hold.