Free Coast (Kick Push Book 2) (The Road 3) by Jay McLean Page A

my future based on my photography, yet I’d been too afraid to show the world what I could do. Besides teachers, some students, family (and Josh), no one had seen it. And the idea of throwing it out there for the world to judge was absolutely petrifying.
    Dad shuts his laptop, pushes it to the side, and leans forward on his elbows. “It’s overwhelming, huh?”
    I shrug.
    “Well, let’s start with the first step. Have you thought of a name?”
    I drop my head, another sigh leaving me. Then I pick up a notepad and pen, scribble down the name I’d chosen a year ago and slowly slide it toward him. His smile is instant. “Views Of Emeralds.” He glances up at me with the eyes I’d inherited. “It’s perfect, Becca.”
    *     *     *
    I spend the next month going to classes, going to therapy with Dawn, and going to voice therapy. I don’t go to group. I’m not ready, and Dad—he understands that and he leaves it alone, for now, but not forever. Dad and I work together to create an Instagram account to hopefully sell the images through there. Last week, I asked Pete, the editor at the school paper, if he could run a tiny story without giving away my identity. He agreed, and now I have forty-nine followers on Instagram and absolutely no interest from anyone wanting to buy the photographs. But like my dad keeps reminding me, it wasn’t the prospect of money, or lack of, that had me wanting it on The List. It was purely getting it out there. Now, I had done that. And without even realizing, I slowly start picking up the pieces of my once not-so-broken life.
    My phone sounds with an alert, and a smile begins to spread when I hear my dad’s footsteps get louder until his huge frame crashes against my door. He knocks. Waits. And then enters the room. “Did you see it?” he shouts over the commentary of whatever game he’s watching on the television.
    I nod once, his excitement forcing the grin out of me.
    “Fifty followers, Becs! That’s amazing!” He throws his hands in the air. “We should celebrate.”
    I quirk an eyebrow.
    “After group therapy.”
    My shoulders drop.
    “Let’s go. You don’t want to be late.”
    *     *     *
    Aaron’s here. I assumed he would be, but still, watching him approach—his hands in his pockets while he chews his bottom lip—is so terrifying, I should’ve added it to The List.
    “I was wondering if you’d ever come back,” he says.
    “I’m not here willingly ,” I sign.
    He smiles. “Your dad?”
    I’m about to nod, but the session starts and a minute later, we’re sitting next to each other in a large circle. In the month I’ve been gone, a few people have left, replaced with newer, sadder faces. They release their hurt, some release their tears. The stories are the same, but different. The words are heavy, and the pain we share even heavier.
    Aaron passes when it comes time for him to talk, which surprises me because he’s always had something to say. It dawns on me now that he’s been silent the entire time, his knee bouncing—something he does when he’s nervous.
    “Becca. Your turn,” Cliff, the group leader, says.
    I keep my eyes narrowed at Aaron, who’s avoiding my gaze, and reach into my bag for my iPad. I pull up the speech I’d prepared last night, take a deep breath, and hit speak . My eyes lose focus the second Cordy starts to speak.
    “I’ve been a little down lately which I guess is the reason why I haven’t been coming to these sessions. It’s probably counterproductive considering this is therapy, and we should be using it the most during those times. The truth is, I lost someone from my life who I loved dearly. Maybe not in the way I should’ve loved him, but still, I did. I think the part that hurt me the most is that I didn’t show him that, and in turn, that hurt me. And it’s that thought that had me spiraling down. I know what you’re all thinking… Becca had her heart broken by a guy, boo-hoo. But the