Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 69452 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69452 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Chapter
Seven
Nothing for you, whore.
—Christmas T-shirt
JEREMIAH
The storm hit sometime while we were in the air, coming home from our latest game, and landing was a nightmare.
It took us a solid ten minutes longer to land than it should have, and by the time we did, I was a nervous wreck, as were the rest of the team.
“You have the next four days off,” Coach said as he stood. “Be back here on December 26th, ready to work.”
I grimaced.
It was December 23rd.
I had a shit ton of shopping I still needed to do—I was a full-blown procrastinator—and it looked like I wouldn’t be doing much of it if the storm had anything to say about it.
We were, according to the local news meteorologist, about to have the storm of the century.
If I played my cards right, I could go run to a few places and grab my grandmother her weekly groceries and make sure that her house was ready before I headed back home.
My grandmother, whom I loved with my entire soul, was the matriarch of our family.
She was also fiercely independent and refused to admit that living alone was too much for her.
My siblings and cousins had tried, and failed, to get her to move into our places—all of us had asked. The only stroke of luck we’d received from her stubbornness was when a place opened up that was two doors down from my eldest sister, Noel.
“Be careful, team,” Coach called as we hauled ass out of the plane the moment the doors were thrust open.
“Ten-four,” I called as I brushed past him.
I jogged to my rental, wishing I had my truck when it was about to be snowmageddon hell out, and started driving toward the grocery store.
After picking up the essentials, I began heading toward Hooker, where my family lived.
I was lucky to get drafted to the Thundercats right out of college. The drive from my family home to the rink was less than an hour, giving me plenty of time to drive and spend with my family any time I wanted to.
I’d chosen to buy a house in Hooker as well.
My eyes were on the drive, taking in all the Christmas decorations downtown when a flash of curly brown hair caught my attention.
My eyes narrowed as I saw the woman attached to all that hair, and my heart leaped.
It was her.
Pulling over in the first available spot, I got out and hurried toward the candy store that I’d never noticed until she was standing outside of it.
I was about halfway to her when she turned, and I got a good glimpse of the side of her face.
It was black and blue.
Holy shit.
I could tell that she’d tried to conceal it with makeup, but there was no hiding a bruise that size.
My stomach somewhere between my knees, I called out to her. “Merriam?”
She turned slowly, and her eyes caught on mine.
The instant connection between us felt like another puzzle piece had clicked into place.
“Hey.” She smiled genuinely. “What are you doing here?”
I swallowed the instant demand to know what happened to her face and instead lied, “I’m here to get my grandmother some candy.”
Her brows rose. “You are?”
I nodded. “She has a sweet tooth. And I had no clue you worked here in particular. I swear I’m not a stalker.”
She turned and untucked her hair from her ear, covering the bruise on the side of her face as much as she could.
“Sure, come on in. I was just changing the countdown on the door.” She indicated the number 2 on the door that now read “2 days until Christmas.”
I fell into step behind her, my hands itching to reach for her and pull her into my arms.
“What kind of candy does she like?” she asked, being sure to keep the bruised side of her face away from me the entire time.
“Um.” I hesitated. “My grandmother likes pretty much anything that has sugar in it.”
That was an understatement.
My grandmother loved anything sweet.
Cookies.
Cake.
Ice cream.
Candy.
Sweet cornbread.
Muffins.
You put sugar in it, she liked it.
That was part of our worry about her.
She’d suffered with high blood sugar.
Yet, giving up her Dr. Peppers and cake was an impossible task.
I’d rather die happy than sad.
My grandmother’s pre-diabetes had not come as a shock. Nor did her refusal to change her diet.
Honestly, I was just happy that she was now somewhere that we could keep an eye on her.
She was eighty years old, and had the iron will of a two-year-old refusing to give up something she wanted.
Needless to say, it definitely was a relief to have her so close, where we could check up on her, and make sure she hadn’t died of a sugar coma.
“Doesn’t everyone?” the prettiest girl I’d ever seen asked.
I grinned down at Merriam and said, “I’m not the biggest fan of sweets.”