Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
December 6, 11:43 a.m.: Mom came by, and she’s a mess. Supposedly she’s been given a thirty-day grace period to come up with the money. It didn’t stop them from beating the shit out of Randy, and the picture mom showed me wasn’t pretty. I can’t stand the thought of that happening to her. I’m fucking scared for her, but I’m also pissed that this has become my problem. When I reconnected with her, I thought we could at least be friends. I didn’t expect her to be a caring, doting figure for me, but I thought, given I’m an adult, we might at least have an easy friendship. There’s nothing easy about her dragging me into this, and now I have to figure out a way to save her from getting hurt, maybe even killed. At this point, I have a few options, none of which seem good. I can get some money off my credit card… maybe a few thousand bucks, but it won’t be enough. It could hold them off, though, if she offered it. I’ve been thinking about selling my car. I might get five thousand out of it as it’s almost twelve years old. It would mean I’d need to buy a new car, and I don’t have the money for that. I could ask my dad. It would be an all-out war bringing this to his doorstep, and he’ll most likely say no. Just me asking is going to dent our relationship because he’s bent over backward to raise me when Mom walked away. I’d go so far as to say it might even ruin our relationship, and I don’t know if I can do that. It’s a lot to think about.
Sighing, I chew on the end of the pen, wondering if I should write about my flowers and necklace. I decide against it because I’ve got ugly feelings rolling through me regarding my mom, and I don’t want to taint my words. I reread my entries often, and as much as they are a way to purge, the good things help me reconnect with glorious feelings.
The flowers and necklace produced some serious warm and fuzzies, and I want to make sure I soundly connect those to the page. I’ll reread that entry many times, I’m sure. Just like I’ve reread my entry on the first time I met Hendrix, and the recap of our first date, and that first kiss at the bar, and the first time we had sex. The second time too.
Within these pages, I’m chronicling this new journey I’m on with Hendrix, and I have a feeling it’s going to be a long, steady one.
CHAPTER 10
Hendrix
There’s something about walking into my house through the garage door, carrying grocery bags with Stevie following right behind me, that feels way too right. It’s a different sense of coming home, wanting to share my space and the routine of cooking with someone I really like.
Our plans aren’t overly thought out, simply a desire to chill with each other.
I had a morning skate, and Stevie worked at the bar. She got off at four p.m., and I picked her up. We hit the grocery store, and I pushed the cart while she pulled items off the shelves. A few people approached me for autographs. An older man wearing a Titans’ sweatshirt kept bemoaning that his grandson wasn’t with him to see me. Stevie took a picture of us with the man’s phone so he could show the boy.
And once again proving how cool Stevie is, two very attractive women asked for a picture. They moved in, one on each side, and all I could think about was Tracy telling me not to touch them. I froze, holding my arms out awkwardly as Stevie positioned the phone for the shot.
“Pull them in closer,” she’d instructed. “They don’t bite.”
So I did… draping my arms over their shoulders and drawing them in.
“Say cheese,” Stevie said.
When they left and I was once again pushing the cart, she bumped her hip against mine and proclaimed, “That was cool.”
Yeah… it was.
This is the first time Stevie’s been to my house, so after we deposit the bags on the counter, I give her a tour.
I was super proud when I bought this place three years ago because it represented the height of financial success. A young guy, a few years on the professional hockey scene, and I was able to afford a huge house. Sure, I’d had the sports cars and expensive clothes, but a house was also an investment. It was something I could show off to my parents and Aunt Rory and they’d be proud.
Not that they’re not always proud of the things I do.
The main floor is an open plan with the kitchen, breakfast nook, and living area bleeding into each other. Stevie is way too impressed with the hidden pantry behind custom cabinetry, opening up to reveal another large room with shelves and a long counter complete with a fancy espresso machine.