All or Nothing(28)

I looked up from my suitcase to see Kennedy walking into my bedroom. “I’m packing. I figure I’ll be busy all night, so I need to get it done now.”

His jaw ticked. “Why are you packing?”

Something flipped in my stomach. Guilt? Fear? Hope? I didn’t even know. “My plane leaves in the morning.”

“Your plane?”

I grabbed a pair of jeans from the pile of laundry on the floor. I hated goodbyes and I had no desire to have this conversation after our lovemaking had left me so emotionally raw. I folded the jeans carefully before settling them into the suitcase.

“You’re actually going to do it. You’re going to leave to be with her when only a couple of hours ago she let you down again.”

I scooped up a sweater and kept my eyes trained on the soft knit as I folded. Anywhere but on Kennedy.

He crossed the room then flipped my suitcase shut before lowering to the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, his face in his hands.

“When I want someone in my life, I’m willing to take a chance on them.” Something crushed in my chest as I whispered the words.

“You take chances on all the wrong people,” he growled, scrubbing his hands over his face. “You’re going to spend your entire life being disappointed because you set people up to fail you. Your mom isn’t going to be any better of a mother in Paris than she was in the States.” He smacked his hands against his thighs and pushed himself back to standing. “The guys you follow across the country are just as big of losers on the East coast as the West. Quit giving everything to the people who are only going to let you down.”

And what about him? Had he been one of the wrong people? I couldn’t stop thinking about the look on his face when that man had asked if we were an item. Like he’d been caught shoplifting. “I’d rather be hurt again and again than let life pass me by because I’m playing it safe.”

Slowly, he lifted his head, his blue eyes burning as he stared at me. “You think leaving makes you brave? Try something truly brave, Bree. Try staying. When shit gets tough and people don’t live up to your expectations, try sticking around. You’re not courageous. You’re running away.”

“Fuck you, Kennedy. At least I’m not allowing someone else to rule my life.”

He picked up my purse from where I’d thrown it in the corner. My hands shook as I reached to take it from him, but he held tight. “It’s not the same. We both know football is just a dream. I’ll have a good life here. You could too.”

My eyes burned and I felt like I was looking at him through a fog. “What are you asking me?” I counted the beats of my heart pounding in my ears. Thump. Thump. Thump.

“I don’t know what you want from me. This is just happening too fast. I need to time think. Space. I don’t know. I can’t just—”

The thumping stopped and for a second I couldn’t breathe. “No, right. Of course you can’t.”

His shoulders fell and his fingers loosened their hold on my purse, and I took it and one last look at him. Then I ran.





Whiskey was good. Whiskey was way fucking better than waving at the crowd at some stupid parade. And it was better than thinking about Bree leaving. Bree asking me for something I didn’t know how to give her.

I slugged back what remained in my glass and tapped it.

Juke frowned from behind the bar. “Don’t you have a parade to get to?”

“Nah. I’m not gonna go this year.”

Juke raised a brow but didn’t say anything. He silently refilled my whiskey and left me to stew.

I must have lost track of time, but before long I felt a heavy hand squeezing my shoulder.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?”

I blinked up at my dad, whose cold-pinkened face was drawn into tight, furious lines. “Five o’clock somewhere,” I said, lifting my glass. “Want a drink?”

His eyes blazed with anger, and I almost laughed. I never realized how his cheeks blazed when he was angry. He looked like a clown. “It’s after six. You missed the whole parade. It started late because we were waiting for you. Why? So you could get drunk? Have you forgotten where your priorities are?”

Sliding off the barstool, I stumbled back a few steps before I got my feet under me. “I have no idea what my priorities are. I’ve never been allowed to have my own priorities. Only yours.”

“Stop,” he hissed. “You’re acting like a spoiled brat.”

I threw up my palms. “Maybe I am.”

I could feel Dad’s anger coming at me like a gust of wind as I pushed out of the bar. I heard him calling but his voice faded when the door settled behind me.