Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 136296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 681(@200wpm)___ 545(@250wpm)___ 454(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 681(@200wpm)___ 545(@250wpm)___ 454(@300wpm)
Eventually we head back to the house, and I’m grateful when our parents finally leave to catch their flight, getting me out of any more talks with my dad—at least until they return from their getaway.
Twenty-Five
The Inside Out of It
Maverick
The next couple of days are low-key. I hang with Kody and the guys, not playing much hockey. I need the break.
Then when my parents get back, I’m immersed in family time. That means lots of time on the ice rink my dad has in the backyard. I miss having my older brother, Robbie, around. He’s been out in the wilderness of British Columbia for the past year with his girlfriend, doing pot research and living the life. I don’t think he’s going to be back this way anytime soon, other than a yearly summer visit. That’s unfortunate, because he’s good at occupying my dad’s time with things like Scrabble. Ironically, I also love Scrabble, but my dad’s default with me is always hockey.
I want to be in a better frame of mind, especially after that conversation with Lavender. I should be able to put the parts of my past that haunt me back in their coffins, but with everything that’s currently going on, I still feel like I’m skating at the edge of a cliff.
On Wednesday, Gram-pot and Grandma Daisy arrive, and on Thursday, Gigi and Grandpa Sid show up. The house is full of family and festivities, but I can’t seem to get into the holiday spirit.
Even with all the awesome food in the house, my appetite is for shit, and I can’t get a decent night’s sleep. I keep dreaming about getting lost, and when I find a staircase, it goes down, down, down, getting darker and darker. But I can’t go back up, because every time I turn around, there’s a wall behind me.
I want to reach out to Clover, but I don’t know if I should.
She’s all I can think about. From the moment I wake up in the morning to those semiconscious minutes before sleep pulls me under, she’s on my mind.
And I miss her.
I feel like I’m coming down with something. Food tastes wrong. Life seems like it’s shrouded in a gauzy film of gray.
I watch the way my sister and Kody are together, stealing secret glances and furtive touches, sneaking off when they think no one is paying attention and returning twenty minutes later, Lavender wearing a smirk and Kody looking even more jacked up than usual.
The night before Christmas Eve, we have a big dinner, which is basically the only kind of dinner we have around here during the holidays. But since my mom can’t actually cook, and Lavender, me, and River can’t be responsible for making a meal for thirty-plus people, we have it catered.
Gram-pot and I are playing a game of Scrabble—again, normally Robbie would play against him. Gram-pot glances around the living room to make sure no one is paying attention to us before he rummages in his pocket and produces a baggie. He slides it across the table. “You look like you need this.”
I glance down at the bag. Inside are two double-chocolate cookies.
“I’d only eat one of those, though. Otherwise, you’ll be drooling on the floor in an hour.”
“You speaking from experience?”
“Your grandma was not impressed when I passed out in my lounger so hard that I peed myself.”
I’m in the middle of a sip of scotch—I mixed it with ginger ale when my dad wasn’t looking because I can’t stand the taste of the stuff—and I start choking. I slam my fist into my chest a few times and cough, clearing my throat. “Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack.”
“You’re almost eighty, Gram-pot. You should probably stop using that phrase.”
He waves a hand around in the air. “Ack, we all go sometime. I hope my end is swift like a reaper in the night.” He makes a circle around his face. “What’s eating at you, Mav? You’re not your usual happy-go-lucky self.”
I focus on my tiles. “Just got a lot on my mind. Final semester of my degree, contract talks coming, and all that.”
“What about woman problems? You got any of those?”
“Nah. No woman problems.” I open the baggie and pop a cookie into my mouth.
“Not ready to talk about it, then.”
I give him an arched brow. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
“I remember what your dad was like when he messed things up with your mom by being a grade-A jackass. He wore the same mopey expression you’re sporting. Walked around like Eeyore, moaning about how he lost the best thing that ever happened to him. And over a fucking endorsement campaign. It was ridiculous.” He shakes his head. “Lucky for him, your mother is an understanding woman. I don’t think the good genetics hurt him much either.” He starts laying tiles and spells the word C-U-S-H.