For the Rush (Playing for Keeps Book 3) by Amber Garza

Author:Amber Garza
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2015-04-20T23:00:00+00:00

When I got home, the house was dark. Silence wove around me as I stepped inside. The only light came from the kitchen. I assumed Mom had left it on when she went to bed, until I heard noise from inside – the rattle of a cup, the pull of a drawer. Inching forward, I poked my head inside the kitchen doorway. It was dimly lit, only the light from the stove illuminating the room. James’ back was to me, his elbow moving as if he was stirring something.

I walked into the room. James must have heard my footsteps because his head jerked, his neck craning.

“Where were you tonight?” I asked, my tone hard.

James spun around, leaning back against the counter. He held a mug in his hand. Steam rose from it. “Sorry I missed your game, bud.”

I winced. Seriously, I hated when he called me ‘bud.’ Did he think I was ten or something?

“I had a long day at work, so I stayed home,” he continued. “Needed some quiet time.”

“Long day at work, huh?” I glared. “You’ve been having a lot of those lately.”

“Is there something you want to ask me?” He threw me a challenging look.

I knew I had to tread lightly. Mom would kill me if I got into fight with my new stepdad, so for her sake I’d keep it civil. “Just find it odd, that’s all. It seems that the numbers will still be there to calculate in the morning.”

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” James replied dryly, running his free hand through his salt and pepper hair.

“To me it’s pretty simple, actually.”

“It is?” He raised his brows in bemusement.

“Yep. When I see my mom sitting alone every night on the couch it becomes pretty damn simple to me.”

“Holden,” his voice had softened. Gone was the amused expression, replaced by one of grave concern. “I would never do anything to hurt your mom. I’m not--”

I held up my hand, not wanting to hear him say the words “like your dad.” I knew he wasn’t like my dad, but I also didn’t want him waltzing in here acting like he was so much better than him either. I knew it didn’t make sense. Most of the time I hated my dad, but deep down I knew I loved him. And it’s not like it had always been bad. We’d had good times. At one point Mom and Dad were happy. Plus, Dad’s the reason I love football. I knew the way I felt about my dad was messed up, but I guess that was the curse of having parents. Even when you hated them, you loved them. Even when you wanted not to care, you did.

And even though you’d told your dad to go to hell, what you really wanted was for him to come home.

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