Page 84 of The Virgin Game Plan (Rules of Love 2)
But as I gaze at the water, the sting abates. I don’t have to feel jealousy. This is a good thing.
So, I get out of my own way, and I choose hope.
Hope that he’s changing. That his new child is the chance he’s wanted, perhaps needed. The chance to do better, to love faithfully.
I let go of anger, jealousy, and petty annoyance. In their place, I feel relief.
Not that he’s an addict.
Not that he’s in therapy.
Relief that I’m not pretending around him any longer.
“I hope it all works out with her,” I say, and I mean that too. Then I step toward him, open my arms, and give him a hug.
His arms wrap around me.
Warm and safe.
The way he felt when I was growing up. The way I wanted him to be even after he moved out. But that’s the past.
This is the present.
I can’t keep holding on to what I saw, what I wished, what didn’t happen. This is what I have in front of me now, and I can either take it or leave it.
I choose to take it.
We break the embrace. “I’m glad we talked,” I tell him.
He smiles, and it’s so genuine that it warms my heart a little bit. “So am I, Reese, so am I.”
I head back inside. Becky’s in the kitchen, pouring herself a mug of something steamy. When she puts it down on the counter, she sets a hand on her belly and says, “Oh!”
I head over to her, a moth to a light, and feel my brother kick.
A sob ratchets up inside me. “Hey, little brother,” I whisper.
She clasps her hand over mine briefly, squeezing before she lets me go. “Thanks for coming by. Do you want some tea?”
“I would love some.”
We sit down in the living room, have a cup, and talk about baby names. “I like Trevor or Jason,” she says.
“I like Norman or Baxter,” my father puts in, deadpan.
I turn to him and hiss. “You do not.”
His smile is delightful and evil. “Got you there.”
“You sure did.”
We talk more about names, due dates, and the shower next week. After I finish the tea, I walk to the door, my father following me.
“Good luck tonight. I might root for the Cougars though,” I add in a sassy little whisper.
He slams his fist against his chest, huffing. “You wound me.”
I sling my purse onto my shoulder and reach for the doorknob, but I find I have more to say. There’s no point holding back. “I met a great guy,” I tell them both. Becky’s eyes light up, twinkling.
My father arches a brow. “He treats you well?”
“He’s amazing. I’m in love with him. It’s wonderful.”
“I’m so happy for you,” Becky says, smiling warmly.
“Maybe I’ll meet him someday,” my father says.
“I have a feeling you will.”
I leave the house, and the past behind with it.
31
Holden
I call Josh as I grab my keys to head out for my morning run.
No more waiting.
Time to put all these plans into motion.
But as I bound down the steps, the call goes to voicemail. I drop the device into my pocket as I shift into a light jog, heading up Fillmore. When I hit the top of the street, I catch up with Chance, Crosby, and Grant, joining them as I often do on Saturday mornings.
As we run toward the Marina, Grant looks at a watch he doesn’t wear. “So, anyone up for bowling tonight? Or maybe a round of pool?”
“Or we could see the new Marvel flick,” Crosby offers, deadpan.
“All good ideas. Since there’s nothing else happening today,” Chance weighs in.
“Nothing whatsoever,” I say, keeping up the ruse.
Chance clears his throat. “So, Holden. I’m concerned about your gluteus maximus. Everything okay?”
Truth be told, my ass still hurts.
But not enough to care.
Especially when Reese is dealing with serious shit right now. “Guys,” I say, clearing my throat. “I have to tell my manager tonight that I’m in love with his daughter. Any words of wisdom?”
Grant shoots me a satisfied grin, then holds out a fist for knocking. “That is excellent news.”
“Holy shit, man. Go for it,” Crosby says, high-fiving me.
Chance flashes a grin. “Guess your ass is just fine. Which means . . . sometimes you just have to say the hard thing.”
“You know what to do,” Grant adds.
The thing is, I do know—just say it. But there’s someone else I need to talk to first. And it’s not Josh. And it’s not my friends. When we finish the run, I wave them off so I can ring a number in Seattle.
“Hey, I need to talk to you, Dad.”
“Everything okay?”
I sink onto a park bench, my breathing evening out. “Everything is great, but I want to tell you, I met someone. She’s wonderful, and I’m absolutely in love with her.”
“That’s terrific. But why does it sound like you’re confessing something?”
