One hell of a storm hit about twelve years ago—a complete uproar of my life in two of the best possible ways. But in the midst of all that chaos,I found my calm. The change became my life, and my brotherhood became the shelter I sought in the thick of it all.
But now, all of that's changing. Those pillars are shifting—one starting to move, the other threatening to collapse—and I'm not sure how to carry the weight all on my own. Still, like my brother said, that's not me. This isn't what I do. Baseball may be leaving, but Ruthie isn't going anywhere.
With that in mind, I take one more minute to gather myself. Then, with my eyes on Ruthie, I make the decision.
Damn.Levi really is right. I have to try—to stop resisting and see the good.
My house might be leaning, but it's been rebuilt before. And now I'm older, wiser—strong enough to do it again. And maybe, just like last time, I don't have to do it alone.
15
Tessa
"Okay, this is definitely not what I had in mind when you said I could come over." Brooke looks over her shoulder at her fiancé and his best friend—both shirtless and balancing on step stools with paint rollers in their hands.
"What's up, Tess?" Drew throws out, reaching to get the spots closest to the edge where the ceiling meets the wall.
"Heller!" his friend sings, rolling on a thick coat of paint above his head.
Brooke turns back to me with a shrug. "Sorry, I didn't know there were rules."
"There aren't," I groan as I step inside. "I'm just not in the mood to be around their kind right now."
"Hockey players?"
"Men."
Brooke raises a brow that screamsWe've had this conversation."What'd he do now?"
I look at the ceiling, the majority of it painted a bright off-white color, then behind her at the guys finishing what's left.
"Oh, don't worry," she says. "Drew doesn't care, and Brett will have no idea what you're talking about."
“Who now?” the friend calls, wobbling on his stool.
“Who is that?” I whisper, leaning toward Brooke.
The problem with Drew's friends is unless their last names are plastered on their backs and their heads are covered by helmets, I barely recognize them.
"That's Burnsey—Brett Burns." I stare at her blankly. "Drew's best friend? Number 7? Oh! He's dating Liam's old nanny."
"What?" I whisper-shout, forcing a smile as the guys glance our way.Of course.As if this day could get any worse.
Brooke snorts, grabbing my attention. "Oh my God, he's harmless."
"InstaBrooke, look!" Brett calls in perfect timing.
We both lean forward to look at the odd figure he's pointing to that he's drawn out in paint.
"Wait, is that a penis?" Brooke asks, squinting.
Drew looks up from the corner he's working on and spots Brett's artwork. "Really, Burnsey? You're drawing dicks on my ceiling?"
Brett's face falls drastically. "It's a microphone," he says sadly, his shoulders slouched forward. "You know… for Brooke's job and…" His voice fades out as he scans his work.
Drew shakes his head. "That's a fucking dick, dude."
He tilts his head and frowns. "Huh. It kind of is."
