Page 82 of The Virgin Game Plan (Rules of Love 2)
Even if things will be different soon, they aren’t different now.
That leaves a sour taste in my mouth, and it twists my stomach.
I close the text thread, sit up in bed, and I know.
With a bone-deep certainty, I know.
I skipped a step.
An absolutely critical one.
A step I’ve been skipping since I was thirteen.
There’s something I need to take care of. Something that has nothing to do with Holden.
He flips to his back, still breathing deeply.
Sound asleep.
I swing my legs over the bed, pad to the bathroom, shut the door, and turn on the shower. Twisting my hair into a bun, I step under the steam, wash up, and dress quickly, pulling on fresh clothes from my overnight bag.
When I return to the bedroom, Holden stirs, rubs his eyes, and yawns. I sit on the edge of the bed, and he props himself up on his elbow, squinting at me. “You okay?”
I’m a coiled wire of nerves. “No. I’m not.”
He rubs my arm. “What’s wrong, beautiful?”
I don’t mince words. “I haven’t told my mom about you. We don’t see my friends. I’m going to the game today, but I’m there as Grant’s good friend. And I’m not asking you to make a declaration. I’m not asking you to change the plan you’ve made with Josh. I know you’re doing this carefully and as quickly as you can, but there’s something I need to do for me, on my side, before I can move forward with you.”
“What is it?” he asks, concern in his deep voice.
“Something I should have done years ago. Because I feel like I’m sneaking around. I’ve been there, done that, and it’s awful.” My voice threatens to break, but I swallow and go on. “It reminds me of everything that hurt when I was thirteen. And I can’t be in that place anymore.” I choke up and—holy shit—that’s the closest I’ve come to telling someone my dad cheated on my mom and I found him doing it, and I did not mean to say that.
But maybe I did.
Maybe I needed to say it.
Holden pulls me close, kisses my forehead. “I’m sorry you feel that way, beautiful.”
A tear slides down my cheek, and I nod.
But this isn’t about him. It’s not about what he needs to do. It’s about the woman I want to be and the daughter I have to be.
“I need to go. There’s something I needed to do years ago,” I say.
I grab my things, and I go to Sausalito.
30
Reese
I stand at my father’s door, uninvited and unexpected. But here I am anyway.
This is not awkward. It’s hard.
But it’s also . . . not.
Maybe because it’s necessary, and has been for more than a decade.
I knock decisively, and a few moments later, a face appears in the glass panel that runs alongside the door—red hair, a basketball belly, and a delighted smile.
Becky swings open the door. “Reese! So good to see you.”
I clear my throat. “Good to see you too.” And it’s true—she is likable. My eyes stray down to her stomach. “How’s the baby?”
She groans, but it’s an affectionate sound as she pats her stomach. “He seems to have taken over all the real estate in my belly.”
“I guess babies do that.” I take a beat before changing gears. “I didn’t call first, but I was hoping to talk to my—”
Footsteps on the stairs behind me interrupt, and I turn to see my dad coming up. He’s wearing a tracksuit, and his face is flushed.
“Hey there! I just ran through downtown. What a nice surprise to see you, Reese. Did you want to join us for breakfast?”
I shake my head. My stomach roils. But I dig deep. I’ve got this.
“Dad, can we talk instead? In private?”
His expression turns serious. “Of course.” We head inside, and he shuts the door behind us.
Becky smiles graciously. “Do you want tea? Coffee?”
I shake my head. “I’m okay.” I set my purse and the gift bag on the table by the door, and my dad guides me out to the deck overlooking the water.
We stand at the railing, overlooking Richardson Bay on a crystal clear Saturday with the sun climbing high in the sky. “What’s on your mind, sweetie bear?”
There’s a rock the size of the sea cliffs in my throat, but I push past it. I felt small years ago. I felt voiceless. Too young to have known what I knew. But I’m not thirteen anymore.
I’m a woman.
A daughter.
A friend.
A girlfriend.
A sports fan.
A food lover.
A badass babe.
I went to South America and lived abroad for two years. I helped teach young girls how to use their voices.
Time to use mine.
“Do you remember when I was thirteen and went to Sacramento to watch your game after my volleyball match?”
His brow knits, his memory perhaps tripping back in time. “You didn’t go though. You said the bus . . .”
