Total pages in book: 174
Estimated words: 173355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 693(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 173355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 693(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
Oh God.
I’m not… I’m not strong enough for this.
I’m not strong enough for him.
For the fact that I’ve heard countless stories where a muse inspires the artist. But I’ve never heard of one where the artist ends up inspiring the muse too.
And I don’t know what to do with that. I don’t know what to do when he makes me feel this way.
All soft and velvet like flowers. But also fierce and passionate.
So strong that I tell him, almost angrily, “You’re not a tree.”
“No.”
“I won’t let you be a tree, Conrad, okay?” I insist, my eyes boring into his. “I won’t. I refuse.”
His lips tip up again, as if he can’t believe my fierce tone, as if he can’t believe someone would use it for him, on his behalf.
“And I don’t want to be,” he replies, his grip still as strong. “I want to move. I want to walk. I want to be wherever you are. I want to go wherever you go.” A thick emotion ripples through his features as he says, “To New York.”
“What?”
He stares at me a beat. “I took the job.”
I freeze for a second. Before my mouth falls open and I breathe out, “You took the job.”
“It starts in the fall.”
“No way.”
His eyes turn slightly amused at my breathy tone. “Yeah.”
And I go up on my tip toes, my heart almost bursting out of my chest. “When?”
“A couple of days later,” he says. “After I… After I lied and sent you away. I…” He takes a moment to gather his thoughts. “I came home that day from St. Mary’s and punched the wall, I broke some furniture, turned everything upside down. But then, I… I brought out your sketches. The ones you made at practice. The ones you’d always show me and I’d always refuse to see, to hear what you were telling me. I brought them out and I couldn’t stop looking at them. I couldn’t stop hearing your voice, your belief in me, in the fact that I could… I could love my job. Something that I’ve always seen as a symbol of my failures. I couldn’t play myself so now I teach. So I called them. I called them the very next day and I agreed to do a tour of the facility. And when I went there, I did all the things you told me to. I talked to the players. I talked about the game, the strategy, their strengths and weaknesses and how I could help them, guide them. How I could make them… better. And I let myself enjoy that for a second. I let myself like the fact that I’m helping them. And I-I realized that I do. I do enjoy that. I do enjoy being around the game, around the team. I do like teaching and bringing the best in them and I… You were right.”
“I was right,” I repeat.
“Yeah. I think I,” he licks his lips, his eyes shiny, a tiny bit excited too, “I think I like it. I think I love it. I love what I do.”
My heart is so light right now. So airy and happy.
So his.
“You took the job,” I say again, this time my eyes filling up with the tears of joy.
“I did,” he rasps, his own eyes liquid. “But not only because I love it. But also because it’s in New York. It’s where you’re going.”
And then it clicks.
I was so happy to hear that he took the job that he’s clearly going to rock with his insane coaching skills, that I neglected one thing.
“So when you…” I frown up at him. “When you cornered me at that get together to sing praises of your brother, you knew. You knew you were going to be in New York too.”
“I did, yeah.”
“But you still pushed me toward him.”
His eyes flick back and forth between mine. “Yes. Because I thought I was doing the right thing.”
“What if I’d agreed to your insane idea, huh?” I squeeze his wrists. “What then? You were going to watch me date your brother. In New York.”
His jaw clenches and clenches before he somehow manages to say, “Yes. If it made you happy. If he gave you what you wanted and needed.”
“And what about you?” I ask, shaking my head. “What would you have done while watching me be happy with your brother?”
It doesn’t even take him a second to reply, “Dreamed about you.”
“What?”
He comes to rest his forehead over mine as he says, “I would’ve dreamed about being with you. About touching you and kissing you and getting to love you. I would’ve watched you with my brother and dreamed about a life with you. I would’ve dreamed that it was me you’d chosen. Not him. Because when it comes to you, Bronwyn, I’m not afraid to dream anymore. I’m not afraid to dream about you even if you dream about someone else.”