Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 61180 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61180 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Grandpa snort-laughs. “I could drive a truck through the logic holes in that piece. But, be that as it may . . .” He reaches for the phone, shooting me his most paternal grin. “Why don’t you let me take that? And give you a breather.”
I heave a sigh and drop the phone into his hand. As soon as he pockets it, though, my fingers itch to read the post again, which shows how wise he is to keep me away from it.
“Now, let’s check out the Brombergs’ zinnias down the street,” he says, and we set off walking through the neighborhood where I grew up.
“The Brombergs? Mrs. Bromberg used to make those peanut butter brownies for Grandma’s Scrabble games.”
“They’re the best,” he adds in a whisper. “I might have pilfered as many as I could, snatching them from my lovely bride.”
“I used to grab one every time she made them too.”
My grandpa squeezes my shoulder. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
But I can’t stick to brownie talk for long before I’m back thinking about the report. “Pops, here’s the thing that’s driving me crazy. I thought the whole accusation Troy made was going to end with the interview last night. With him posting the clip from the locker room. But then it continued with this follow-up piece. I feel so stupid for thinking it would be one and done.”
“Grant, you can’t predict what the media will do.”
“True, but it’s so unfair,” I say, getting wound up like a jack-in-the-box.
“Life is unfair,” Grandpa says in his sagest voice as we walk. I notice his step is nice and even, his stride strong.
“Hey! You’re doing better than earlier this year. Your knee was still a little wobbly then,” I point out, pleased with his progress.
He gestures to his knee. “Course it is. I’m as good as new.” He stops at a patch of zinnias in his neighbor’s front yard. “I think I might try my hand at gardening. Can you see me puttering around in a yard in my golden years?”
I imagined my grandpa working in his sunny backyard ten, twenty years from now, picture visiting him. Then, I expand the scene, so that Declan and I are coming to visit my grandparents together.
“I can see it perfectly,” I say, all the annoyance drained away at last. “What would you plant?”
We walk on, and I listen as he paints a vision of his future garden. I love that he wanted to take my mind off the latest report. That he knows how. And that it works all through dinner.
When I’m home a little later, my phone rings. I see Declan’s name on the screen, and my shoulders relax a tiny bit.
“Damn, if I wasn’t a cocky bastard, I’d think you’d been avoiding me all day,” I say as I head up the stairs to our bedroom.
“Hey, you,” he says, and the sweetness in his voice unknots me. That’s the way he’s been greeting me since we fell for each other the first time. He always says it with such tenderness that it’s like getting a massage. The first touch melts me.
But only for a moment.
My anger at that “news” piece Troy ran rushes back. It’s a slap in the face to my reputation on the field sure, but also to Declan’s.
“Also, I’m never avoiding you. Dinner ran late. I got to my hotel a few minutes ago. I saw the post on It Ain’t Over Till It’s Over and I had to call and find out how you’re doing.”
“Are you pissed too? You must be,” I say as I reach the top of the stairs.
“Not really,” Declan says evenly.
I arch a brow as I trudge into the bedroom and flop onto the bed. “Why not?”
“Because this is just the crap they do sometimes. The media will go after anything.”
“But it’s such a lie,” I point out.
“You know that, I know that, and our teammates know that. That’s what matters.”
Declan’s right, but there’s someone he left out. “But what about the fans?” I ask.
“You can’t control what they think, babe. They’re going to think what they want.”
“But it’s not true, what he wrote,” I say.
Declan sighs softly. “Look. We’ve been lucky. We’ve had a lot of support so far. We’re not always going to have everyone’s vote of confidence. This is one of those times.”
“Yeah, but this is one of the first times someone’s ever come at me or someone I love. And I know it’s not a homophobic thing. It’s just him being a shit-stirrer, but even so, I hate it.”
“Because you want to be liked. Because you try so hard to like everyone too. You find the positive in everything,” Declan says, his tone kind and understanding.
Maybe that’s why this is hitting hard. I want to be a good guy and be seen as a good guy too. “I’m a fucking ray of sunshine,” I tease.