Call It What You Want: Brigid Kemmerer

by Brigid Kemmerer

Suddenly, I wish I had another thirty minutes of running in me. I wish I could keep running forever. Away from here.

His dark eyes hold mine, and I wish I had a map of the emotion I see there.

My eyes flick down her form again, and the part of my brain that is very much not a gentleman wishes we were going somewhere more private—and leaving her sister here on the lawn.

“I miss my father so much.”