Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
“You guys have been friends since you were kids, right?” Anthony asks.
“Yeah. I was sick a lot as a kid. I was left out because I couldn’t do all the things other kids could do…plus, some of them were just assholes. I was gay, smart, small, and quiet. My younger years weren’t great. They were only bearable because of him.” Donovan motions toward Eric, who puts his hand on Donovan’s nape and rubs. “He was always my friend, even when he got teased because of it.”
“I liked you better than them.” Eric winks, and I feel emotion clogging up my chest.
I should offer something about me. That’s what Rylan would do. That’s what the annoying hockey player would tell me to do if he were here. “I didn’t grow up with many friends either. I wasn’t teased, but I just never connected. I always felt like an outsider looking in. Even when I was with other people, I knew they would rather I wasn’t around, or just didn’t care enough about me to be bothered if I was there or not.” Wow…holy shit. I can’t believe I just said that. The difference is, I hadn’t had an Eric, but now I have a Rylan, and maybe a Donovan and an Anthony too.
“I was painfully shy as a kid,” Anthony admits, and I must say, I’m shocked. He’s a dancer in a bar and is very vocal about his hookups. He laughs, noticing my surprise. “I know, right? But I worked hard to change that. I don’t give the important stuff easily, but I’ve learned to be able to do the rest of it. It’s interesting, though, how all of us were loners when we were younger. I think that’s something else Malcolm targeted.”
“That, and the way none of us had much relationship experience, if any,” Donovan adds.
“I fucking hate that bastard.” Eric’s fists tighten.
“But he’s out of our lives now and he’s brought us all together,” Donovan replies. He’s always looking on the bright side.
“And not only do we have our own group of friends, but we’ve reclaimed Jilted Exes. It’s ours now,” Anthony says to a round of agreements.
I can’t help smiling, enjoying this evening with them, and strangely, wishing Rylan were here to see it.
He would be happy for me.
*
“Oh my God! Go! Go! Go!” I jump to my feet and shout at Rylan. He and New Jersey’s center are fighting over the puck, sticks hitting each other’s, bodies ramming as they somehow manage to stay on their feet and not eat shit on the ice the way I would.
I hate seeing him get hit like this, but I’ll worry about that later.
Rylan manages to flick the puck away from the guy and send it straight toward Volkov. He takes off down the ice, and Rylan does the same. I’ve noticed that Stevens seems to stay close to his spot on the blue line more than Rylan does. Rylan seems to be more of a scoring defenseman than Stevens is. I’m not sure if either of them is right or wrong, but I assume they’re doing what they’re supposed to and that each man plays defense a different way.
One of Jersey’s players is heading straight toward Volkov. Right before he takes a hit, Volkov sends the puck flying toward Rylan again. He’s fast as he skates from the left to the right, then pulls back with his stick, the small black disk there one moment and gone the next. It soars right over the left shoulder of the goalie and into the net.
I pump my fists in the air, heart racing, my cheeks hurting from my smile as Rylan and his teammates celebrate his goal. The camera pans to Rylan, getting a shot of him as he skates back to his position. My stomach gets wobbly, my skin buzzing with excitement for him. “Hell yes!”
It’s not until I hear, “Wow. I had no idea you liked hockey so much,” from Anthony behind me that I remember I’m not alone. That I’m yelling at the television, jumping up and down with three other people in the room.
I immediately sober. You can’t judge a book by its cover and all, but I’m pretty sure I don’t look like the world’s biggest hockey fan, and I can’t remember if I ever told them that I only went to that first game because Malcolm liked it.
“Yeah…it’s…new.” Ever since I started banging the guy who just scored. If I were Rylan, I’d make a scoring joke right there.
I try to look like I’m not dying inside as I make my way back to my chair. Why does it suddenly feel like I’m on a mile-long hike through the desert rather than in Donovan’s small living room?
I sit back down, pretending to be completely normal. Nothing to see here.