Page 152 of Small Town, Big Storm

What if he wants us to move there?

No.

He’s fixing up the house.We’re building a lifehere.

And what if he decides he doesn’t want it?Or…God.What if he gets traded again?

The money is one thing, being away for forty-odd games is another.But a trade?

How wouldwesurvive a trade?

“I see you understand what I’m saying,” she drawls as she walks over to me, voice dropping.“Kind of hard to be there for your hockey player boyfriend if you’re tied to a Podunk town in the middle of nowhere.”

Horror knots up my insides, worry gnaws at my bones, panic nips at my heels but I just turn away from her and start for the museum.But I have no clue how I get there, not with the maelstrom of thoughts in my mind.

The money.The need to make sure things are fair.

Sully’s and Storm’s worry about the late nights, the way he keeps close and does too much.

And…the buzz of the bar beneath my feet as I soothed an infant Holly.Her first steps across the worn rug in the living room.The many times I cried myself to sleep in my bed after Sully died.Messy Monday night dinners and cartoons on the TV and baths that splashed more water out of the tub than remained in it…

And Storm’s arms around me as I fall asleep.The smell of fresh pasta and French toast and lasagna in the air.His laughter mingling with Holly’s as they watch a movie or color together.

A family we’re building together.

But what if he’s like all the others, what if he leaves?

What ifwehave to leave?

What if it all goes wrong and Holly?—

“Poppy?”Clem calls.“You coming?”

I shake myself, realize I’m standing outside the meeting room’s door.Slapping a smile on my face, I call back, “Yup!Be right there!”

And I am right there.But I’m notallthere.The whole time we discuss vendors and concessions, ticket sales and the post-game concert that will be put on by the high school’s band, my mind is spinning.

Thinking.

Worrying.

I’m never giving up Sully’s.Never.

Not only is itSully’sbut it’s also my livelihood.

I won’t ever choose to be completely vulnerable, won’t rely on anyone—not fully.

The world is too fragile a place.

“You good, Pop?”Clover asks softly and I shake myself a second time.Realize I’ve autopiloted my way over to Molly’s for our hangout.

“I didn’t volunteer for anything truly atrocious, did I?”I mutter.

Clover bumps her shoulder against mine.“Nah, I had your back.”

“Thanks,” I whisper, breaking off the edge of my double chocolate chip cookie.

“Want to talk about it?”she asks.