Page 54 of Third Strike Smitten

Eight years ago, I was in a car accident that⁠—

Delete.

If you’ve ever wondered if your donation matters, let me tell you⁠—

I groan, dropping my head onto the kitchen table. “Why did I agree to this again?”

My phone buzzes with a text, and I reach for it without lifting my head, grateful for the distraction.

Killian

How’s the speech coming along, Coach?

I snort, typing back with one hand.

Me

It’s not. I’ve written and deleted the same sentence fourteen times. I think I’m broken.

Killian

Need help? I’m great with words. Ask anyone.

Me

You’re great with WORDS? That’s a stretch.

Killian

Fine. I’m great with YOUR words. Better?

I smile despite myself, lifting my head to respond properly.

Me

Marginally. Got any brilliant ideas for what I should say to a room full of people about surviving a horrific car accident without making everyone cry?

Killian

How about starting with “So there I was, bleeding out on the highway...”

Me

Too graphic and I wasn’t bleeding out. If anything, I was bleeding in.

Killian

Okay, how about “Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to thank you all for coming tonight. Before I begin, does anyone know how to get bloodstains out of a Toyota?”

I laugh out loud, the sound echoing in my empty apartment. Tara’s working a red-eye tonight, and I’m grateful for Killian’s distraction.

Me

You’re terrible at this. You know that, right? I’m trying to inspire people, not make them think I’m a stand-up comedian.

Killian

But you could be if you want to. I’ve experienced your heckling skills firsthand. They’re both funny and impressive.