“Start some new traditions with us. It’s nothing extravagant and no one wears leotards, but it beats being alone. And next year maybe your sister and mom can come up and join. There’s plenty of room.” “Next year, huh? You see me in the picture that far away?” “Yeah.” I shrug. “I could do without the damn Thunderhawks song blaring on full volume when I pull up Instagram and the comments you leave on my posts, but you’re there.” “The fans love my comments,” Avery says. She runs her hand up my chest and tugs on my shirt, her mouth inches away from mine. “They love to see us arguing.”
