Perfecting the Odds Read Online Free PDF

could!” She was sobbing now, clutching her knees.
    Michael took a deep drag of air . Why the fuck was she confessing to him? He knew it was selfish to even question her considering what she’d been through, but even when his own father died, when he was in tour after tour in shitty fucking countries, he had never seen such a display of helplessness or desperation. But what twisted his gut was that he didn’t the answers; she had chosen to reach out to a stranger. Him, of all people. Unfortunately, he was as helpless as she was. Words would be worth shit for comfort.
    Michael walked slowly and knelt down beside her. In a slow, timid gesture, he moved the stray hair from her tear streaked face. She flinched then relaxed a bit, still trying to slow her sobs. Then he softly took her hand in his. She stared down at their connection.
    “Your hand …it’s so warm,” she whispered. And just as suddenly as she exited the bar, she yanked her hand from his and walked toward the entrance, jerking the door open. He followed at a safe distance and waited at the bottom of the stairs. He watched her retrieve her friends then trail behind them as they made their way toward the exit. She passed, looking down to avoid his eyes, and then ascended the staircase. His eyes followed her, desperate to call her name. But she had blurred the line by opening up to him, but now the line was black and wide, and he couldn’t cross it.
    Almost to the top, s he glanced back at him and mouthed, “I’m so sorry.” Maybe he should have felt used, violated even, but sympathy welled within him.  Karis had professed her deepest, hidden thoughts—the depths of her suffering soul— to a complete stranger. Thoughts she probably had never admitted to herself.
    He shook his head to dismiss her apology and flashed a smile...the one and only consolation he could give her.

Chapter 4  
    Three years later…
    “7:00 a.m. on a Monday sucks,” Karis muttered quietly at the rear-view mirror of her silver Honda Accord. Mondays don’t discriminate either. They’ll launch their spirit-sucking tentacles at any pessimistic soul. In fact, the only other day the sucked more than Monday was probably Sunday night, when inevitably, Karis fixated on how sucky Monday morning would be.
    After delivering both children to their schools, Karis raced down the road toward Spring Meadow High School, hoping to arrive before the first period bell rang. She couldn’t afford to be late again. Her administrator, Jan Winston, had a serious case of I’m-the-new-sheriff-in-town syndrome, and Karis’s job meant more to her than a paycheck: it was her passion. Besides her two children, her job wretched her mind out the black hole of the life-that-used to-be. And even though teaching was as thankless as parenting, it was just as rewarding.
    She squealed into the first parking spot available, slammed the lever into park, and jumped out clutching to her shoulder her large Coach purse that would spur a double-take from Mary Poppins herself. Using her free hand to grip her laptop bag jam-packed with graded essays, she bolted toward the faculty entrance as the mild October air whipped her hair, blinding her vision. At the door, she jammed her hand in and out of her purse in search of the elusive ID swipe card.
    “ Damn this purse!” she shouted, violently swiping her bangs from her eyes.
    “Here, Karis, I’ve got it. I see that you’re in a hurry. Again .”
    Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Winston’s eyes glaring at her. Karis shut her eyes a moment to ponder what lay before her: I’m almost late—again. It’s suck-ass Monday. It’s Homecoming Week. Halloween is just a few days away. Next week is Career Day, which I stupidly signed-up to lead. Now my confidence-draining administrator is throwing her passive-aggressive bullshit my way. She stifled a growl.
    The week had barely begun, but one thing was for sure: This Monday was only one rank ingredient in this shitcake of a