Usually, I’d agree with her. But this feels different.
“Are you sure you’re not rushing into anything?”
“Mom,” I breathe. “This isn’t like last time. I’m not doing this for the man, or for the thrill of travelling the world. I’m working here in LA, and I’m doing something I love. Something that maybe I could turn into a career. Yes, it does sound too good to be true, but the reality is that Cole is going to pay me well, I’m going to get experience, and I’m going to have time to study.”
“And he’s okay with that?” Dad asks.
“Yes. As long as he has his meals, I’m free to do whatever else I want.”
Dad nods. “I know I don’t really know him. But I trust him.”
“You’d trust anyone who hits a puck for a living.” Mom scoffs.
“James has nothing but good things to say about him,” Dad argues. He’s been on a one-man mission to make James Watson, the LA Vipers head coach, his best friend since the day he discovered who our neighbor was. “At least it isn’t Rett,” Dad adds.
“That boy is trouble,” Mom mumbles.
I can’t argue with them. Rett Donnelly is in the media more than he’s out of it, and usually, it isn’t for his performance on the ice.
“This is going to be great,” I say, diverting the conversation back. “It’s exactly what I need to get my life back on track. He’sgoing to be paying me enough to hopefully get a place of my own and start moving forward again.”
“You know you’re welcome here as long as you like, love,” Mom says.
“I know.” And I do. I missed them as much as they did me while I was away. It was bad enough when I decided to move to Las Vegas after finishing college to “find myself.” But instead of that, I found a man who promised to show me the world and to give me a life I could only previously have dreamed of.
He wasn’t lying. He did do both of those things. I just didn’t expect it to end almost as suddenly as it started and find myself back here with my parents giving me the “I told you so” eyes as I cried myself to sleep every night.
The past year has been hard. I’ve tried to do everything I can to get over it. Hell, I’ve even tried outrunning it by spending last summer with my cousin in England. But it turns out that a broken heart follows you everywhere you go. So do the media stories and photos of the man who shattered it in the first place.
“I love spending time with you both, but I’m heading toward thirty.”
Dad scoffs, aware that I’m not that close.
But it’s close enough for me. I always thought I’d be settled with a family of my own by the time I turned thirty. But here I am, living in my parents’ house and sleeping in the same bed I had as a kid.
At least I have a job now. It’s more than I can say I’ve had for the past few years.
Things are starting to look up. Honestly, it’s about time. And if I can end the year in my own place, with a life that I carve out for myself here in LA, then all the better.
I don’t need a man to make me happy. Neither do I need the world. I need focus, challenge, and friends. Anything else is just a bonus.
“Whatever you need, we’re here for you,” Mom says, reaching over and squeezing my hand.
“I love you guys,” I say, a lump crawling up my throat.
Even after what I’ve put them through, their love and support are unwavering.
“We love you too, sugar lump,” Dad says, not helping with the emotions raging inside me.
“I’ve got to be up early in the morning, so I’m going to head to bed.”
They watch me as I take my mug and tuck my chair back under the table. “I’m not sure what time I’ll be home, so plan for me not to be here.”
“Okay. Keep in touch. Let us know how it’s going,” Mom says.
“I’m just going to be cooking.”
“I know, but I still want to know what you’re doing. Maybe you could send us a sneaky peek or two of his apartment.”
