Champion

- Summer -

Dad: Can you come to the staff meeting this week?

Summer: What day? What time?

Dad: Thursday at 1:00.

Summer: Yeah, I might have to shuffle one of Rhett's appointments that will conflict with it.

Dad: I'm sure he can manage an appointment on his own. Seems like you've got him on a pretty tight leash.

Summer: Again. He's not a dog.

There's a cold front rolling through today. You'd think the breeze would cool my cheeks, but the air is downright humid. All the hard work I did in the waiting room to compose myself while Rhett had his scan went right down the toilet the minute he came striding back out with a knowing grin on his face.

Cocky motherfucker.

On our walk out the main doors of the hospital, I avoid his eyes. It's awkward. Really fucking awkward. And it's such a Winter move. She's never outright mean to me. She's passive aggressive, she's calculated. Winter plays the long game. I can just see our dad mentioning what I've been up to and her filing that information away for the perfect moment to embarrass me with it.

I hate to call her conniving, because there's this little part of me that truly loves her. Admires her. I wish we'd been given the opportunity to forge our own type of relationship. But the evil step mother got her fingers in there and played us both like puppets, easily making me out to be the source of all family problems. Winter never got a chance to like me, and no matter how hard I try, she doesn't seem interested. It's something that keeps me up at night. I long for a relationship with her. Yearn to have one more person I can consider family, rather than just Kip.

Seeing Rhett and his family together--even pestering each other the way they do--makes my chest ache. I want that one day.

"Did you doodle our names with a heart around them in your binders?"

That's how he breaks the silence.

I press my lips together into a firm line, willing myself not to smile. I don't want to give him the satisfaction of laughing at his joke. Even if it's funny.

"No."

"Did you..." He trails off, scrubbing at his beard. "Kiss the page you ripped out of a magazine?"

I scoff. "I didn't rip it out. I cut it out very carefully. And now I'm looking forward to throwing darts at it."

He barks out a laugh and grins down at me, looking altogether too handsome and pleased with himself. Which forces me to glance away and try to hide my smile. But when I do, my eyes land on the McLaren parked ahead of us, in a tow away zone with its hazards on. It's the license plate that makes me stop in my tracks.