Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 147021 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 735(@200wpm)___ 588(@250wpm)___ 490(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147021 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 735(@200wpm)___ 588(@250wpm)___ 490(@300wpm)
Dad rubs the back of his neck. “The team doctor suggested we wake him every few hours.”
Concussions aren’t as rare as we’d like them to be. “How long has he been out?”
“Not long. I’ll check on him around three, and then again at six,” he says.
“I can take the six o’clock check. I’ll be out the door by seven-thirty, anyway. That way you can sleep a bit longer and check on him before you leave for practice,” I offer.
“Are you sure that’s enough sleep for you?”
“I’ll be up around that time anyway, and I can stay in my old room tonight to make it easier.” I can’t wait until tomorrow evening to see for myself that he’s okay, but I can’t tell my dad that, especially not after what I did. I worry he’ll see right through me. He has a strict no players rule, and I can’t stand the idea of him being disappointed in me.
“If you’re sure you don’t mind,” Dad concedes.
“Not at all. I’ll run down to my apartment and grab what I need.”
“Okay. Thanks, kiddo.”
I return to my apartment, fill an overnight bag, and head back up to my dad’s place.
“It’s nice to have you here for the night, even if the circumstances are less than ideal.” Dad hugs me. “We’ll have dinner together tomorrow?”
“That sounds great, Dado. I can make my special homemade mac and cheese.” It’s his favorite after a big loss.
“That’d be amazing. Hollis would appreciate it, too.”
I send him off to bed and stop in the kitchen to pour myself a glass of water and put the few dishes on the counter in the dishwasher. I peek in the fridge and note he’s low on a few essentials. A list sits on the counter. I’m constantly trying to get him to use an app, but he can be old school about stuff like this. We’re a team of two, even with his paper lists.
Once the kitchen stuff is handled, I pad down the hall to my old bedroom and sigh as I slide between the hot pink sheets. How upset would Dad be if he knew what I did at Hollis’s? How angry would he be at Hollis for giving me permission to use his place for self-gratification? I don’t even want to imagine his reaction. No hockey players is the only real rule he’s ever enforced. We didn’t really need them otherwise. I am his girl, and he is my dad. We’ve always been a unit of two. I take care of him, and he takes care of me. He’s so protective. All his energy has been put into hockey and me. I love him, but sometimes I wish I wasn’t the only woman in his life. He has a big heart, but sometimes all that attention can feel a little overwhelming. I’m compelled to be perfect all the time, always wanting to make him happy.
I set my alarm, then settle in to get some rest. At two fifty-two, I wake to the sound of the apartment door opening and closing, and the alarm being punched in. At six, my alarm goes off. I quickly brush my teeth and hair and head across the hall to Hollis’s. Postie and Malone meow their excitement as I key in the alarm code. Before I check on Hollis, I give them both a generous helping of wet food.
My palms are suddenly damp and my mouth dry as I approach his bedroom door. My stomach rolls with shame, while my lady parts zing at the memory of what I did the last time I was in here. I’m frustrated that I can even think about that at a time like this. Hollis has a concussion. He needs to be taken care of, not ogled.
I open the door. He’s lying on his back, and the comforter has been pushed aside, leaving one bare leg exposed. The sheets skim his waist, his bare chest and tattoos on display. While I’ve seen him in a bathing suit many times, he’s usually the guy who pulls on a shirt once he’s out of the water.
The last time I saw him shirtless, though, was last week when he was fresh from the shower, wrapped in only a towel. A line of light filters through a gap in the curtains and cuts across his stomach, highlighting rippling abs and his defined chest, marked with vibrant ink. I long to trace the outline of those leaves with my fingertips.
“Stop checking him out and make sure he’s okay, you asshole,” I whisper.
I take a deep, calming breath and cross the room, quietly calling his name. It feels illicit to be in his private space with him. I’ve taken care of him before, but what I did in here changes everything. Especially because he knows.