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)
I can hear the thump of bass as soon as we turn onto the car-lined street. It’s mostly student housing and apartments around here.
I saunter up the driveway, not really sure what the hell I’m doing here. The house is small and run-down, a true student home—unlike the one I live in with my siblings. Inside, there’s a keg in the middle of the living room, along with a handful of rookie players and some freshman girls who are questionable jailbait. The whole scene is one I’ve avoided for the most part since my freshman year. There’s a reason all the parties were at my house, where I could control who came and went, and I could disappear when I didn’t feel like dealing with drunk idiots anymore. I spent most of the time making sure people didn’t get so hammered they could no longer make good decisions.
And now here I am, in the middle of everyone’s bad decision-making. I’ve only been here for two minutes, and I’m already regretting it.
“Waters! You showed, man! Guys! The legend is heeeeeeeeeere!” shouts Deever, the freshman throwing the party.
And suddenly I have a lot of attention. One of the guys hands me a shot. And as the group around me grows, more drinks come my way. I accept them, wanting to drown out everything that’s happening in my head. I expect the alcohol to take the edge off, but it seems to be doing the opposite.
After a little while, I can’t stay focused on the conversation. Especially since a group of freshmen, most of them not on the hockey team, want to talk to me about my dad and his awesome career, and how cool it is that I’m carrying on tradition and going to the NHL, and blah fucking blah.
It gets worse when a few girls slide into the group, and one links her arm with mine and asks me if I came alone.
“I’m actually seeing someone,” I lie, for reasons that don’t make a lot of sense, other than the fact that being here feels wrong on a lot of levels, even if Clover lied about her ex. And right now, he’s in her house. Maybe in her bed. Maybe he’s been there all day.
“Oh.” She makes a pouty face. “Are you like, exclusive?”
“Sure.” If by exclusive she means I exclusively whack off in the shower to images of my professor, then yes. We’re absolutely exclusive.
“But she’s not here?”
“No.” I scrub a hand over my face. “I gotta get out of here.” I push my way out of the group, shaking off the girl.
I realize I’m pretty damn drunk when the floor feels like it’s moving under my feet. I have to use the wall to keep me from falling over. I need water. And maybe to puke.
I stumble my way through the living room and out the front door. I trip down the front steps and around the side of the house and relieve myself in a bush. I call an Uber, my stomach twisting uncomfortably.
When the Uber arrives, I cram myself into the back seat. As I’m sitting there, I pull up the introductory email for Clover’s class. Her cell number is at the bottom. A lot of professors do that—give a contact number outside of the university.
I compose and send a single message:
Maverick: Why did you lie?
Seventeen
The Breaking Point
Clover
Today has been a test of my patience. It started with Gabriel stopping by at stupid o’clock in the morning, thinking if he caught me early enough—and half-awake—he would get me to agree to sit down and talk.
I managed to send him on his way. However, my class schedule and office hours are easy enough to get a hold of from the school, which meant he was waiting at my door when I arrived home from work—with flowers, dinner, and paperwork. If I hadn’t let him in the house, he would have made a scene. And that’s about the last thing I need.
Three hours later, my dinner remains untouched, along with my full glass of wine, and the paperwork remains unsigned—it wasn’t the divorce papers, it was the assessment of the cabin.
“I don’t understand why you’re being so rigid, Clover. I’m willing to negotiate fairly, but you haven’t given me a chance here.” He crosses one leg over the other and steeples his hands, leaning in, his voice soft. “Let me take you out. Let’s go for dinner. Tomorrow night. Let me show you I’ve changed.”
“You haven’t changed, though, Gabriel. You’re doing all the same things you did when we were married.”
“We still are married.”
“And why is that?” I hate how smug he looks, like he’s already won.
“Because I believe we can work this out. I’m waiting for you to see that too.”
“And I keep telling you, I don’t want to work this out. Marrying you was a mistake.”