“I saw Mom.”
“What? When?”
“Last night. At a tribute band bar in Branson, of all places.”
He nods too slowly.
“You knew she was in town?” I ask.
“Yeah, I texted her about my game.”
“What? Why are you in touch with her? Why would you let her back in? You know better.”
Sean looks out at the ice. “I’m not twelve, Pat. She can’t hurt me anymore.”
I chuckle darkly, my elbows digging into my knees. “Tell that to your dating life.”
Sean’s fist smashes into my shoulder, and I tip to the side, laughing.
“That had nothing to do with Mom and everything to do with Serena.”
I scoff. “Same difference.”
“What did she say when you saw her?”
“I didn’t give her the chance to say anything. I walked out. What did she say when she found out you two were basically in the same town?”
“She said she hoped she could make it.” His hair is damp, and when he shrugs, droplets of water hit my hand. I wipe them off on his jeans.
“You played well,” I tell him. “Were there any scouts here tonight?”
He leans back, hands behind his head, stretching his long legs over the seat in front of him. “Yeah. Can’t imagine he was impressed by how long it took me to get up, though.”
“If he saw that save, he was impressed,” I say firmly, even though I know the reality of signing an injury-prone thirty-three-year-old. But there’s a part of me that’s even more desperate than Sean is for him to finally make it to the big leagues.
Because if he can succeed, it won’t matter how I failed him.
It won’t matter if I fail again.
I think of how I felt in that cavern, how my past and future felt so small.
Sean’s doesn’t, though.
Dad’s doesn’t.
I think of Dad—how much every movement hurts, how he winces when he doesn’t think we can see. If Sean makes it, maybe the pressure will finally ease off me.
Could I be more selfish?
“How’s the master plan coming?” Sean asks, like he’s read my mind, seen me waffling over what to do next. “You gonna be ready when you see Nash this time?”
I flex my thigh, feeling the flash drive in my pocket. My most precious possession: me singing and playing songs Nash—and the whole music world—won’t be able to ignore.
I hope.
“I don’t know.”
Sean drops his hands and leans forward, mirroring my posture. “If you don’t want to do it, don’t do it.”
