Page 82 of Golden Goal

“See you later,” I tell the two of them as the elevator stops on my floor and I exit.

They wave as the doors close, and I head to my office. The rest of the afternoon is quiet as the team is getting ready to leave for a road trip this afternoon.

At five on the dot the next day, I power off my laptop, grab my purse, and head out to my car. Just as I’ve parked in front of my building, my phone dings with a message.

Holt: Hey sweetheart. How was your day? Miss you.

I can’t help the smile on my face or the fluttering in my stomach at the use of my nickname.

Me: It was good. Quiet. I miss you too.

I tuck my phone back in my purse. As I walk across the parking lot, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I spin around, my gaze darting over the parked cars.

But there’s no one there.

At least no one that I can see.

Regardless, I hurry toward the building.

Once I’m inside my apartment, with the door locked and the curtains closed, I heave out a breath. Maybe I’m being paranoid. I hope I am.

I walk into the kitchen where I’m greeted by Peaches sitting on the counter.

“You know you’re not supposed to be up there.”

She blinks at me slowly before lifting a paw and licking it. Ignoring my words.

I sigh, but I know what she wants. I grab a can of her food from the cabinet, open it over the sink, and pour it into her bowl. I turn back around so she can see me set it on the ground. She glares at me for a second before hopping down, as if she’s hoping I’ll change my mind and let her eat on the counter. I check her water bowl before changing my clothes and heating up leftovers for dinner.

I’m drying my hands on the kitchen towel after putting my dirty plate and fork in the dishwasher when my phone rings. I snatch it off the counter.

“Hello.”

“Hey, sis,” Mason’s voice comes through the phone.

I silently curse myself for not checking to see who was calling before I picked up. I don’t have the energy to deal with this.

“Mason. I don’t—”

“Please, Bec, hear me out. Please.”

Something in his voice gives me pause.

“Fine.” I pour myself a glass of water and take a seat at the counter.

“I’m sorry, Becca. I’m sorry for all the things I’ve said and done over the years. I was a wreck, hopped up on drugs or alcohol, sometimes both. Which doesn’t excuse my behavior, but I’m sorry. I’m sober now—”

“Mason,” I start.

“I know you’ve heard me say this before. But this time I mean it, Bec. I’ve got a job. Not a great one, but a job nonetheless. A place to live. I’m enrolled in the local state college. It’s one class, but it’s a start.”

“Wow,” I murmur, although I’m not entirely sure whether to believe him because, again, we’ve been through this before. Although he’s never actually had a job or his own place, at least as far as I know. “What’s different this time?”

He’s silent for so long I pull the phone away from my ear to make sure we didn’t get disconnected.

“I finally took therapy seriously. It made me realize I didn’t want to live my life from one fix to another. I used to have goals and dreams. I want that again.” He sucks in a breath. “I fucked up royally in the past, but that doesn’t mean I have to keep fucking up. I can change. Or try to at least.”

“That’s great. I’m happy for you.”