Page 28 of Now to Forever (Life on the Ledge Duet #2)

Nineteen

“I’m Winter and I’m addicted to winning.”

Winter's rhinestone-clad shirt faintly sparkles under the overhead fluorescent lighting of the basement as she chuckles softly. Mel gives her a look from the puny podium but stays quiet.

“Right. Anyway,” Winter continues. “It just started out as a hobby, you know. I was bored one day. My husband watches football every Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Thursday.” She ticks the days off on her fingers and sticks her tongue out, as if to emphasize how annoying this is, but her pink lips are smiling.

“So I just thought, what if I had my own fun—bet on the games so I could be more engaged. Like marriage therapy or something.” The familiar sounds of the LL meetings occur in her pause: the sliding of the metal folding chairs, a cough, someone texting, a crunch on a stale cookie.

I look at the coffee in my hands, the thought of tasting it nearly makes me gag .

Winter lets out a long sigh, toying with her dark ponytail.

“Well, after that, I just couldn’t stop.

I’d win; I’d fly. I’d be clapping and hollering.

And I mean, my husband loved that I was watching the ball games.

It was only ten dollars here or twenty there.

Then I’d lose.” Her eyes widen. “I got even more frantic to win again. Like, just one more bet. And, you know, they make it so easy—right on your dang phone and linked to your bank account!” She says it with a tone that implies can you believe this?

“I read once it has something to do with the dopamine—why it’s so fun, you know?

“It was fine, and then, over the summer, it was the Olympics and”—a breath whooshes out of her like air deflating from a tire—“I got us into some trouble.” She picks at one of the rhinestones on her shirt.

“I drained our savings account, and now here I am. Trying to fix my mess or something. So, that’s my pitiful story.

” She smiles, but it’s sadder than before. “Now football season is here and . . .”

“What if you took the apps off your phone?” I ask, cutting the silence.

Winter tilts her head as Mel mutters, “Christ, Scotty. Here we go.”

“Well,” Winter says thoughtfully. “I’d still know it’s there. Out of sight don’t mean out of mind when I know how good winning feels. I didn’t bet on a single game last weekend, though.” She beams at this.

“What about another hobby?” I press, sitting up taller. “When your husband watches football, you could knit or something. ”

“I—”

“Do you even want to quit?” I snap, Winter’s cheery expression crashing.

I’ve never understood why people don’t just stop.

Why my brother never stopped. I never said it out loud, but deep down I wondered if it was as simple as him never wanting to.

Like drugs gave him something nothing else could despite the damage they were causing.

Like he simply didn’t give two shits about what anyone thought.

Maybe Wren’s mom was no different: using because she wanted to.

Because she was selfish. The sentiment makes my blood boil with rage.

“It doesn’t even sound like you’re trying.

” I’m shouting now. “What will your kids think if they see this? Do they know about the money?”

Winter looks like she’s on the verge of tears.

“Scotty!” Mel shouts, the entirety of Ledger’s Ledgers staring at me with wide eyes, gaping mouths, and Styrofoam cups of shouldn’t-even-be-called-coffee in hand. “Enough!”

My mouth snaps shut, and I sag back in my chair. Mel redirects the meeting to an alcoholic taking their turn to share; I don’t bother asking him any questions.

I was harsh, sure, but it’s not like it matters.

Months of me saying what I say—trying to help them—yet here they all are making the same stupid choices, me not making a lick of difference.

While I normally sit in here and stew about my decayed family tree, everyone today has made me think of Wren.

Her mom choosing everything else over her, leading to where she is now: sad, scarred, and shattered to pieces.

And, of course, there’s the fact that I didn’t tell Ford, which has been festering in me like some kind of world-ending plague.

It’s been nearly a week, and though I’ve seen Wren nearly every day—examining her body for fresh cuts like I know what the fuck I’m doing as she rolls her eyes—I’ve avoided him.

He fills up the birdseed; I wave and pretend I have somewhere to go.

He comes by to check on Wren; I tell him she’s fine.

He looks at me the way he looks at me; I threaten to throw him in the lake.

“Well, that was quite a show,” Mel says as we stand outside, meeting attendees scattering toward their cars around us. She takes a long drag from her cigarette followed by a smoke-filled exhale. “Even for you.”

“I aim to please,” I say dryly.

“You ever hear insanity is doing the same thing over and over hoping for a different result?” I nod. “Addiction feels like that. Least for me it did. If I get drunk today, maybe I won’t notice she’s gone. It didn’t work, so I’d try again the next day. And the next.”

“You’re insane,” I quip. “Explains so much.”

Her brows lift. “As insane as the woman who continues to harass others so she can keep shouldering the blame for something that has nothing to do with her.”

I give her a deadpan look. “I think my brother dying because I didn’t do enough to help him has a little bit to do with me.”

She drops the half-smoked cigarette to the ground and stomps it out before picking it up and tossing it in a trash can.

“Life is filled with tragedy, Scotty. People leave, people die. We feel hurt deeper than we imagine possible. Deeper than we think our bodies can bear. It’s on us to decide how we respond, for better or worse.”

I scoff.

“Listen,” she says, annoyed. “You and your brother grew up in the same house—same parents—but what happened to him isn’t on you. Hell, even your parents can’t claim full responsibility. Somewhere along the way, you made a choice, he made a different one.”

I . . . have never once considered this.

In my silence: “You need to let all of it go. Live for you. He doesn’t have now, my daughter either, but you do.” She gives a weak smile. “I do.”

Wanda’s now to forever flitters through me.

She waves at someone across the lot; my attention stays on her. “What if I don’t know how?”

She flicks her eyes to me for a split second.

“You do.” A smile overtakes her face as she looks away from me and coos, “Officer Callahan.” Ford?

The one and only takes his final steps to us across the nearly vacant parking lot wearing his uniform.

He smiles at me—it makes my veins itch—but it’s Mel he hugs.

“To what do we owe the pleasure?” she asks, patting his chest.

“Just thought I’d say hi. Check in.” He grins at her then faces me. “Scotty.”

“Officer.” I look at my hands, wishing I had a cigarette, cup of coffee, or yo-yo so I had something to do with them.

“Well, I’m just fine, Ford,” she says warmly. “You’ve done enough. You don’t have to babysit me. This one though.” She tilts her head my way. “Watch out.”

He chuckles, his hands resting on the belt of his uniform. “Believe it or not, I think she’s been avoiding me.”

She gives me a pointed look.

“Sounds like something she would do.”

“She thinks,” I snap, “you both should stop talking about her like she’s not standing right the hell here.”

Mel rolls her eyes, picking up the LL sign and waving a hand through the air as she walks toward the church. “Good luck with that one, Officer.”

He rakes his gaze over my fitted jeans and casual plum-colored V-neck shirt, big enough it drapes low on my chest and slightly off one shoulder.

He doesn’t move or say anything, but the simple act of his eyeballs moving the way they are makes heat trickle up my neck.

When our gazes collide, I look away first.

Damn him.

“So,” I say in the tense silence. “You got something to say, or you just here pretending to be sexy?”

He smirks, smug. “You think I’m sexy?”

“ Pretending to be sexy; I know better.”

“Noted. I’ll work on it.” His blue eyes smile bright, and a dimple carves into his cheek before his expression turns serious. “Something happen with Wren?”

“What?” My throat constricts with guilt. “No. Why? ”

“Because you’ve been avoiding me for days.” I don’t bother arguing. “Figured it’s either her or because you’re nervous to ask me to ask you on a date.”

At this, I laugh, some of the tension dissolving. “Hardly.”

“I can see how that would be the case.” He steps toward me now, opening his mouth just enough I see his tongue work across his lips as he hooks two fingers in a belt loop of my jeans, tugging my compliant body toward him. “Me pretending to be sexy can be pretty intimidating.”

“Ah.” I shove my hands in the back pockets of my jeans to keep from climbing him like a sin-stepped ladder in the church parking lot. “You see right through me.”

“But I’m here now, Scotty, and I can assure you there’s nothing to be nervous about.

” He’s smiling fully, and its impact on my insides is stupid.

Tugging my belt loops again, my hips bump into his.

“And I think you’ve been waiting for the perfect moment of you standing outside an LL meeting—which, I can’t wait to hear the story behind—to ask me. ”

“Really?” Why am I playing along? “And what would you say, should you find me standing outside an LL meeting, and I said I wanted such a thing as a date with you?”

“I’d say—” He leans in close to me, his lips grazing my ear when he speaks, sending a shiver down my spine, “Let me pick you up Friday.”

Maybe it’s what Mel just said, but I don’t hesitate: “Okay. ”

“See,” he says, grinning as he releases his hands from my jeans and takes a step backward, my body noticing the space the second he pulls away. “Wasn’t that easy?”