Comeback (The Holland Brothers Book 3)

I wasn’t looking forward to coming to the bar tonight, but hanging out with Sabrina has been the best part of my day.

The game today didn’t go how I wanted. Of course I’m happy the team won, but my contribution was so minimal, I don’t even feel like I can celebrate.

I didn’t expect to come in this season after spending most of last year on the sideline and have Coach rearrange all the plays for me, but I hoped that my efforts in practice and early games would show everyone what I’m capable of on the football field.

And if it had to be anyone playing well, why does it have to be Graham? Most of the team can’t stand the guy, but no one is going to argue with the numbers. He’s doing more for the team than I am, and I hate that so fucking much.

“Hey, I have an idea,” I say when we fall quiet. Everyone around us is wrapped up in their own conversations and not paying us any attention.

“Okay. Let’s hear it.”

“Let’s go see the studio.”

“What?” The surprise of my suggestion registers on her face.

“I don’t really want to be here, but I’m not ready to go home yet. And I’m curious.”

“It isn’t much to look at yet,” she warns me.

“I don’t care. I still want to see it.”

She studies me closely like she’s waiting for me to change my mind.

“What about Brogan and London?” she asks.

“They’ll be heading out soon anyway.”

She glances toward them and almost like it’s on cue, Brogan checks the time on his phone.

“Come on.” I push my chair back. “It’ll be fun and then we can get pizza or something.”

Sabrina stands but still looks unsure. “You really want to go see the studio? Now?”

“I do,” I say, nodding. A smile curves up my lips. “And it’ll drive Brogan nuts that I saw it first.”

With a small laugh, she shakes her head and then closes the space between us.

My phone vibrates and I glance down, then turn the screen toward Sabrina so she can read the text.

Sabrina lets out a small laugh.

I tap out a quick reply.

We take an Uber from the bar and only a few minutes later are pulling up in front of a busy stretch of street. There are lots of businesses in this area. Most are closed this late, but a couple restaurants and bars are still open, and people are walking up and down the street to get to them.

I thank the driver and get out of the car behind Sabrina. She digs out a set of keys and I hang back as she approaches the front door of a dark, nondescript building on the end of the block. My head tips back and I take in the broken windows. There’s a thick layer of dirt covering the glass that looks like it’s the only thing holding the other windows together.

“Here it is,” she says, pushing the door open.

An uneasy feeling settles in my stomach as we walk in. She has her cell phone out with the flashlight on to illuminate the space as we go.

I flip a light switch on the wall, and nothing happens. “Is there electricity?”

“Not yet. There hasn’t been a tenant in here in a while,” she says as I try the switch again anyway. I regret it when I pull my fingers back and they’re coated in something greasy.

Sabrina continues walking farther into the space. I follow closely behind so I can read her lips, and in case she falls through the floor or something. Which seems entirely possible considering what I’ve seen so far.

“I know it isn’t much to look at yet,” she says in a voice that feels far too bubbly for this dingy, dark, nearly condemned building. “But over here is where I’ll put the ballet barre, and the dance floor will continue all the way back here.” She moves around gracefully showing me her vision. All the while I listen, but I struggle to comprehend any of it because this place needs some serious work.

Her landlord is paying for new windows but everything else Sabrina agreed to cover so she could have a lower monthly rental payment. I don’t know if it was the best or worst deal of the century. This place needs new floors, at minimum, and it’ll probably take a power washer to get rid of the layers of dirt and grime that have built up while it sat empty.

“I’ll need to put up a wall somewhere to divide the space and think through the entryway and spaces for dancers to store their things and maybe a parent-viewing area.” The more she talks, the more animated she becomes. Her hands wave around, and she spins to look at whichever area she mentions, like she can see it already.

“So,” she says before I’ve figured out what the hell to say. Sabrina moves closer and shines her light so she can see me. “Oh, come on, it’s not that bad. It just needs a bit of work.”

I guess I didn’t mask my expression very well. Though to be fair, the fact she isn’t running away in horror says I’m hiding at least some of my feelings.

“A bit of work?” I ask as a bird, or maybe a bat, swoops down from the ceiling and disappears again somewhere up in the rafters.

“Okay, a lot of work but I can do it.”

“It might be easier to bulldoze over it and build it from scratch.” I turn in a circle and look a second time, hoping it’s not as bad as I initially thought. Nope. It’s bad.

“The bones are good, and I love the windows.” She walks over to one wall where an arch of windows looks out onto the street. Or it might if it weren’t covered in a century’s worth of dirt. It’s hard to imagine this place cleaned up and not smelling like dead animals, but I reach for some optimism anyway.

“Six months or so of scrubbing and painting and airing the place out and it might not feel like the location of a horror film.”

She smiles, that dimple appearing on the left side of her mouth. “I want to be open before the first of the year.”

That gives her a few months, but it’s going to take every bit of it and then some. God, no wonder she had an asthma attack. I’ve only been in here a few minutes, and I feel like I’ve inhaled a year’s worth of dust.

“Do you already have a contractor?” I ask.

“It’s not that much work. My dad is handy, and I liked to help him when I was little.”

“You’re going to do all this yourself?”

She lifts one shoulder and shrugs. “I can’t afford to hire it out. The rent is a little cheaper than I budgeted, but I got a rough estimate for new flooring and installation and that alone takes up a good portion of the money I saved for improving the space.”

“Is it too late to get out of the lease?” I feel sick. Brogan isn’t going to just be upset I saw this place, he’s going to be pissed I let his sister walk into this place at night. I’m ninety-nine percent sure there’s a rotting dead corpse of some rat variety in here.

“I can do it,” she says again, lifting her chin slightly. “Just wait and see.”