Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 135539 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135539 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Beside me, May takes her frustration out on the dishrag. “Because . . . I don’t know. Somehow, you’d bumble it and make things worse, I guess.”
Probably. I’m apparently on a roll tonight.
She rubs her forehead like there’s a headache blooming. “Just, let it go, okay?”
“I don’t understand you at all sometimes, May.”
“Well, right back at you.” Her nose wrinkles. “Usually it’s March we have to lecture. But you’ve been acting clueless all night. What gives, anyway?”
I stare down at the sink where dying bubbles circle the drain. The panic that’s been trying to hitch a ride on my back since I signed my contract comes swooping back. I follow one stubborn soap bubble with my eyes and try to breathe. Part of me feels like I’ll go right down that drain with the soap if I’m not careful.
The tips of my fingers tingle. May is saying something, but my ears are ringing too loudly to make out the words.
“Augie?”
Fingertips touch my arm. It’s as though I’m wearing my gear, too swaddled up in padding to truly feel it.
“August.”
A firm shake.
May’s big eyes peer up at me, worried and slightly scared. I swallow hard. Just put on a smile and she’ll go away.
But I can’t move. The moment stretches. And I know May is going to panic soon. Shit, I’m panicking. What the fuck is wrong with me? I’m not like this. I don’t panic. I don’t bug out for nothing. All I’ve been doing since being drafted is panicking. And I hate it. I fucking hate it.
“May.” Mom’s voice breaks through the fog. “Go on into the den.”
May’s eyes stay on me for a second longer, then she nods. “Sure.”
I don’t watch her go. I look for that damn soap bubble, but it’s gone.
Mom comes up alongside me. “August.”
I swallow hard. And then she’s turning me toward her. I go along with it like a zombie. But when her arms go around me, I give in, bending down so she can properly reach me. I’m a grown man, but it feels ridiculously good to have her hug.
A sigh gusts out of me, and I hug her back. Warmth blooms through my middle, and I’m no longer unsteady.
“I’m okay, Ma.” A lie muttered into her hair.
“I know,” she says, rubbing my back gently. “But I needed a hug and here you were.”
Our family hugs. It’s what we do. When we’re happy, sad, scared, or sometimes just for the hell of it. Before we were born, Mom had read that frequent hugging was essential to a person’s emotional and physical well-being. She made certain we were never without them. That she knew I needed one now has a lump welling within my throat. I pull back to meet her eyes.
Cupping my cheeks, she studies me. “Baby boy, you want to tell me what’s going on with you?”
“If I could I would.”
“All right.” She steps away and picks up a bowl. “Why don’t you go in with the rest of the kids and watch a movie.”
I’m convinced that, in her mind, we’ll all be ten years old forever. I smile but it feels heavy. “I’m thinking of heading out and getting a hotel room in the city.”
Her brows lift in outrage. “To spend the night alone instead of in your home? I think not.”
I haven’t lived here since I entered college, but this is my home in all the ways that count. I tell myself this, even as panic has me straining toward the front door. I’m headed back to LA, and reality, in the morning. It would be more convenient to stay closer to the airport.
Mom’s voice gets slightly muffled as she bends to put away the bowl. “Is it so wrong to want you here? March is staying until Sunday. Even Pen is spending the night here with the girls.”
Penelope’s staying here? I’d thought she’d go back to her mom’s house in the city. I glance toward the arched entrance to the family room where it’s darkened with only the glowing light of the TV screen flickering and the occasional sound effect blaring out. Someone laughs. It sounds light and feminine. I know it’s not either of my sisters.
My insides do a weird sort of flip.
“All right, I’ll stay.”
Five
Pen
The great thing about visiting the Luck home after all these years is that, for this brief moment in time, I get to feel like a kid again. Once we’d cleaned up after dinner, we’d all gone back to our rooms, changed into our pj’s, and then met back up in the family den. June, May, and I curl up like kittens in the corner of the massive sectional couch, while March sprawls like a king on the other end. August has gone missing. Which is for the best, really. If I don’t have to look at him, I don’t have to remember being utterly embarrassed by him. It’s been my go-to game plan when dealing with him for years.