Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 85453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Where the fuck did she get so much money?
“The ranch was crazy busy, then I went to school, so we didn’t have much time for fun things anymore.” I crank my neck to peer at McKayla when she says, “But I’m learning the importance of that now. So…” She licks her lips before bringing out her pleading eyes. “Cabin thirty-one wouldn’t happen to be available, would it?”
Cindy grimaces, doubling the thrust of McKayla’s chest before letting her off the hook. “Of course it is.” She taps on a keyboard inside her box three times before murmuring, “Well, it is now.”
“Thank you so much, Cindy. I truly appreciate it.”
While refusing to accept the bundle of notes McKayla is holding out, she replies, “Any time, honey. Just make sure you bring some of your momma’s famous pies the next time you come visit.”
“I will. I promise.”
With a smile big enough to compete with the early morning sun, Cindy grants us access to the RV park by raising the gate. I’ve never been to a place like this before, but I can see how it would be a favorite amongst families. There’s a pool, two heated spas, a jumping pillow, and right next to cabin thirty-one is a dusty old basketball halfcourt and hoop.
“I’m not in the right headspace—”
McKayla cuts me off. “You don’t have a choice, probie.” After cranking open her door, she moves to the trunk. I assume she is fetching the luggage I left in there last night, so you can picture my shock when she pulls out one of the many basketballs she stole from the gymnasium the day I broke my dick. “If you don’t want to know how many balls I can fit in my trunk, I suggest you quit moping and get out of the car, Cash.”
“I—” I protect my face with my hands when she rears her arm back in preparation to sock me in the face with the ball. “All right. I’m coming.”
Her technique is all wrong when she bounces the ball like she’s prepping to take a shot. “Same rules as always. You answer correctly, you take a shot. You answer wrong—”
“My face will wear a ball imprint for a week.”
Without missing a beat, she shouts, “Bingo!”
Since I got her question right, she tosses me the ball. Even with my mood down the toilet, it hits the backboard and sinks through the chained net only a second later.
“Smooth,” McKayla brags, her praise unusual considering how blistering the tension is between us. Regretfully, this time around, it isn’t sexual tension. It is frustration. “Now onto something harder.” I expect her to ask about my father or to hit me with one of the math quizzes she expected me to stumble on two nights ago, so I’m figuratively knocked onto my ass when she asks, “The first time you took me to training, you said basketball wasn’t about the glory and fame for you, that it was so much more. What did you mean by that?”
I answer before I can talk myself out of it. “It is about freedom and not being tied down to one thing.”
With a smile, she passes me the ball.
After sinking it through the hoop, I await another question.
McKayla doesn’t keep me hanging for long. “Freedom from yourself or freedom from others?”
This one is a little harder for me to answer. “Can I say both?”
Wetness glistens in McKayla’s eyes as she nods. “If it is the truth, you can say whatever the hell you like.”
“Then I’ll say both.” Her toss of the ball this time around is weak when I tack on, “And I’ll also admit that seeing you kiss him fucking killed me.”
Acting as if my comment didn’t rip her heart out of her chest, I take another shot, groaning when it hits the rim and bounces back at me.
“You missed because you think you need to pick a side. That you need to be either angry or forgivable.” McKayla scoops up the ball before balancing it on her slim hip. “But just like you don’t need to pick between academics and sports, you can be anything you want.” Air whizzes out of my nose when she says, “You want to hate me, but then you realize you could never hate anyone more than you hate yourself so why waste resources.”
“I don’t hate myself. I—”
I’ve got nothing.
Not a single thing.
“I don’t want to be them.” I thrust my hand to the left like my grandparents’ house is just on the horizon. “I don’t want to be broken, angry, and confused.”
“Then don’t be.”
“You heard what he said, McKayla. You heard how he blamed me for Tiph’s death. How I picked wrong.”
Her reply shunts me back three places. “I heard someone doing anything he can to break free from his guilt, to swim to the surface for a final breath. I heard a man desperate to shift his blame onto anyone else. A man in grief. He just doesn’t know how to express himself, Cash, because that would break his heart even more than it would admitting it is easier for him to blame you for Tiph’s death than it is to blame himself.”