“We love you, sweetheart.” With shaky hands, she reaches into her purse, pulling out a Ziploc bag filled with ticket stubs. Ticket stubs dating back nine years. Vancouver. Nashville. Carolina. Fuck, my debut game in LA at eighteen. “We’ve watched you every step of the way. Been so damn proud of you. You did it. You worked for it. And you deserve it, Jaxon. You deserve everything good in your life.”
It’s actually not fair for me to be sobbing like this at 96%
