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“Yep, home on the sidelines, where a cheerleader belongs,” I finally reply, chuckling softly and poking fun at myself to make everyone feel better, like I always do.
“Bullshit,” Quinn whispers just so I can hear him, leaning his head closer to mine and looking seriously into my eyes. “You don’t belong on the sidelines. You deserve to fucking shine.”
My throat immediately clogs with emotion, and I have to blink away tears as he pulls his head back and gives my hand a gentle squeeze that he’s still gripping. While my mother continues, oblivious to what’s happening in the dark, quiet corner of the deck on the opposite side of the softly flickering flames from the small fire pit that separates us.
And what’s happening is, I am quickly losing this game. And my heart.
“Did you know her great-grandfather—”
“Built all the cottages with his own two hands, with barely two nickels to rub together?” I finish for my mom, entirely too familiar with this same, guilt-ridden story. “Remind me again. Was it during a hurricane, or a rare blizzard? It changes every time you tell it.”
And it seriously does. Every time I try to talk to her about possibly doing something else with my life, she tells me the story of Great-Grandpa Flanagan. And every time she tells the story, it gets more and more depressing, with harder and harder things my grandfather suddenly had to endure, which sure as hell weren’t in the story the last seventy-five times she told it, just to dig the guilt in even deeper. They’ve always just expected me to toe the line and support them in their dream of successfully running the family business, do my part, and be thankful. When they’ve never once supported me or my dreams. And I’ve always accepted it, and I’ve been as okay with it as I can be, because they’re my parents. But after the last four years of seeing what’s out there and what I’m capable of, it’s getting harder and harder to toe the line and keep a smile on my face.
“Oh, hush now!” my mom scolds with a wave of her hand as my dad tosses another piece of wood on the fire. “He put his blood, sweat, and tears into that business. Not many people have something like this to fall back on when their hobby can’t pay the bills. Something that will give them security and a home forever.”
I always find it funny that this is my dad’s family business, and my mom defends it as if she built it with her own blood, sweat, tears, blizzard, and alligator attack, which sometimes changes to a shark, depending on how much wine she’s had and if she forgets that sharks can’t fly.
“I’m sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Flanagan,” Quinn suddenly says, sitting up taller in his seat as he gives my hand another reassuring squeeze. “But you have a very talented daughter, and calling what she’s done a hobby is just—I’m sorry again; I mean no disrespect—but it’s insulting. The things she’s been fighting for and all the hard work she’s put in… it’s nothing short of amazing. And it’s impressive. I’m just lucky she lets me be in the same room with her. I’m so in awe of her every goddamn day.” Quinn pauses to look back at me, while still addressing my parents. “I wish we would have met sooner while she was living in California. She could have brought a lot more fun and happiness to my life that was sorely missing.”
Tears flood my eyes again as I stare at Quinn’s profile when he turns back to look at my parents, firmly gripping my hand while he continues to defend my honor. And makes me lose even more of my sanity and my heart to him.
“She’s brilliant, and she’s a rock star, and she can do whatever she sets her mind to. And I’m not the only one who thinks this and believes there’s so much more she could be doing with all of her talent,” Quinn explains, now making me sit up straighter in my chair, while my parents remain mute on the other side of the fire. “My boss, the owner of the Sharks, who absolutely no one impresses, was so blown away by your daughter that she called me earlier today and personally invited her to a charity event in two weeks. She wants to pick Emily’s brain and ask Emily to help her with the contracts for the Sharks Cheerleaders for the upcoming season.”
“Oh my God,” I whisper. “Are you serious?”
“Dead serious.” Quinn nods, leaning closer to me and lowering his voice. “I wasn’t going to tell you, because you wanted to break up with me after tonight. The nerve!” He gasps playfully with wide, shocked eyes, and I can’t help but laugh.
