The Bookworm's Guide to Faking (The Bookworm's Guide #2) - Emma Hart Page 0,7
even better with another major win in our sights.
And then…
My shoulder went out mid-game against New York.
The Montana Bears hadn’t made it to the finals.
I’d gone from the best damn pitcher in the league to an operating table quicker than you could say my name, and now…
There was no guarantee that I’d ever play again. And if I did, I wasn’t going to be the player I was two months ago.
That was the only thing that was certain about this.
That I would never be the same again.
Grandpa grunted. “Sorry, slugger. You thought about teaching?”
“No. I want to get back out there.” I closed the container that had held my sandwich and put it back in the bag. “If I can’t… Well, I’ll think about that when the time comes.”
Another grunt. It was basically his primary means of communication, and it could mean just about anything at any time.
Thankfully, I was used to it.
The silence was broken by three knocks at the door, and when Grandpa didn’t move to tell them they could come in, I did it for him.
“What did you do that for?” he grumbled, picking tomato out of his sandwich.
“Because it’s polite. You should try it sometime,” I retorted.
An elderly woman with her gray hair up in a chic twist hobbled into the room on a cane. She wore a shocking pick dress with a knitted mustard-yellow shawl around her shoulders, and she narrowed her eyes at me behind round-lensed glasses. “Who are you?”
I stood up and approached her, offering her my hand. “Sebastian Stone, ma’am.”
She looked at my hand as if it were covered in germs. “I know you. You went to school with my granddaughter.”
That didn’t narrow it down.
“Go away, Rosie,” Grandpa grunted. “I don’t want you in my bedroom. There’s nothing in here for you.”
Rosie.
“Ah. Holley and Ivy’s grandmother?” I asked politely.
Her eyes narrowed even further. “Who else’s grandmother would I be?”
“There were lots of girls he went to school with, you daft woman!” Grandpa’s voice raised a few decibels. “Your granddaughters aren’t the only ones in the world!”
“Oh, be quiet, you ornery bastard,” Rosie shot back, waving her cane enthusiastically in his direction. “I wasn’t talking to you!”
“Good! I don’t want you talking to me! Now get out and take my grandson with you!”
“Oooh!” She wiggled her cane in a more threatening manner. “And here I was about to give you a tip about those darn afternoon walks they insist we take!”
I blinked. “Mrs. Stuart, he has to take that—”
“You keep out of this, boy.” Grandpa sniffed and leaned forward, his wrinkled hands clasping the arms of his chair. “What tip?”
“You can swivel on it now!” Rosie barked. “You’re coming with the rest of us, Amos!”
“I’ll do nothing of the sort! Get out of my bedroom, Rosie!”
I blinked between them. Grandpa was not in the mood for further company, evidently. I went over to him and kissed his leathery cheek, ignoring yet another grunt from him. “I’ll speak to you soon, Grandpa.”
Another grunt.
“Mrs. Stuart, I’m on my way out. Why don’t I join you on your way downstairs?” I swept her out of Grandpa’s room before she could argue.
It was no mean feat, let me tell you.
I offered her my arm, and she took it. I assumed it was gratefully, but you never could tell with the elderly.
At least not the elderly in White Peak.
I didn’t know if they were grateful for anything at all.
“Oh, Mabel is at those darn ducks again,” Rosie said as we stepped out of the elevator. “Stupid noisy things. Always waking me up from my nap.”
“Should I ask about the ducks?”
“Nobody should,” said another voice from behind.
Rosie wrinkled her face up. “Go away, Hagatha.”
“Who’s this?” the other woman asked, sizing me up as I turned around. “He’s handsome.”
“Well, Mrs. Stuart,” I said, extracting Rosie’s hand from the crook of my arm. “Thank you for helping me find my way out. You ladies have a nice day.”
I inclined my head in their direction and removed myself from the situation before it went any further. I didn’t know who ‘Hagatha’ was but being eyed up by a pensioner wasn’t exactly in my plans for the day.
What was in my plans was finding a way to make Holley talk to me again.
I couldn’t fucking believe she was still mad at me. Yes, what I’d done was a shitty thing, but I hadn’t meant to do it.