All or Nothing(9)

As I followed her downstairs, I didn’t look at her ass once. Four or five times? Maybe.

“I need a snack before we go.” She hit a switch on the wall and flooded the kitchen with light. “Dad said he had the maid stock the fridge.”

I pulled open the fridge and studied the contents. Chocolate milk, Lunchables, chocolate pudding. “You eat like a four-year-old.” I moved to the pantry and found a basket labeled “Bree” with Cocoa Puffs, Pop-Tarts, and Doritos. After grabbing the chips, I joined her at the island, where she was already opening up a bottle of chocolate milk and a container of pudding. “I can’t believe you still eat this crap. Most girls would kill to be able to eat junk food all the time and have your body.”

She waved away the compliment and dug into the Doritos. “Mom used to be like this, but she said it caught up with her about the time she hit twenty-five. I figure I’ve gotta enjoy it while I can.”

“How is your mom anyway?” I asked. “Is she still living in LA?”

She shook her head faintly, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. “She’s moving to Paris.”

Shit. Leave it to Bree’s mom to put an ocean between herself and her daughter.

“I’m sorry,” I muttered. “That sucks.”

She nodded but kept her eyes locked on her glass of chocolate milk.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Her smile was strained when she said, “What’s there to talk about?”





This was probably an opportune time to tell Kennedy about my move. Mama didn’t raise a coward, so I lifted my eyes to meet his and took a breath. Only the words that came out of my mouth had nothing to do with my plans. “How’s your dad?”

It was Kennedy’s turn to avoid eye contact now. We didn’t used to be like this. We told each other everything. Had I ruined that? He kept his eyes trained on some invisible point behind my head. “He’s already set up my desk at the office. He’s ready for me to graduate, move home, work at the business, and eventually step into his shoes as mayor.”

That sounded miserable. Kennedy deserved more than to live a carbon copy of someone else’s life. But I just said, “Wow. That’s amazing.”

“Right. I’m the luckiest guy in town, I guess.”

I dropped my Doritos halfway to my mouth. The man had such a good poker face that I could never read him. This was no exception, but I didn’t need to be able to read him to know he didn’t want his father’s life. “Could we drop the bullshit?”

He frowned. “Why are you the only one who knows I’m more than the next piece of the ‘Hale legacy’?” He made air quotes around the last words.

I didn’t have an answer for that.

He stared at me for several long beats before he spoke. “My coach at Waskeegee thinks I have a chance at the pros.” He broke his chip into five tiny pieces. “I probably wouldn’t be drafted, coming from a no-name football school, but he thinks I could get on a team’s practice squad and work to get noticed.”

Something funny was happening with my stomach—this twisting, curling, flip-flopping of nerves and excitement. Never, not once had I pushed Kennedy into taking his football talent more seriously. When he’d chosen to go to Waskeegee because of their excellent business and political science programs, I’d kept my mouth shut instead of pointing out the equally amazing opportunities at Big Ten schools, where he might make a name for himself. When he played along with his dad’s plans to make Kennedy the next Abbott Springs mayor, I’d bitten my tongue instead of asking what he’d do with his love of football. Kennedy had enough people making all his life decisions for him. He didn’t need to add me to the mix. But if he wanted to try to go pro, if it was his idea, that was something else altogether.

He swallowed so hard I could hear it. “You think I’m crazy, don’t you.”

“I think you’re finally making plans that make sense for you instead of everyone else.” I reached across the bar and put my hand over his. Our fingers intertwined, and my already spastic stomach nearly lost its shit. “You have to follow your passions, Kennedy. Abbott Springs and the family business will always be here, but the chance to play pro ball? Unlike a lot of dreams, there’s a timestamp on that. You have to try now.”

“I might not make it. They might not want me, even on a practice squad.”

I shrugged. “I’d rather know I tried than wonder.”

“It’s just that simple with you, isn’t it?”

“Why shouldn’t it be? It’s your life.”