Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 130307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 652(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 652(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
I told him I could do this.
I told him I didn’t want anything more.
But the voices of my matriarchy were being drowned out more and more by the voice inside me screaming that he could be different, that this didn’t have to have rules, that we could be more.
And I didn’t need Reddit to tell me how stupid and delirious those thoughts were.
House of Matches
Will
I was sick.
And not just in the way that I knew already — which was that I couldn’t get Chloe out of my head, not for a single fucking second.
I was playing with fire when it came to this little arrangement of ours. I kept my heart guarded about as securely as a raggedy old wooden fence would, because no matter how I tried to put distance between us, I couldn’t help but give in to the desperation I felt to get closer.
No, I wasn’t just that kind of sick.
I was sick sick — as in down with the goddamn flu.
This was what I got for going to a theme park in the middle of cold season, I supposed.
I’d been relatively fortunate over the years as a dad, all things considered. Somehow, even when Ava brought home germs from school, I managed to tough it out. I could play with a stuffy nose or a headache. I could even suffer with a fever and a stomach bug.
But the flu was something Coach didn’t fuck with.
The last thing he wanted was for anyone else on the team to catch it, for a group of us to be down with body aches, fatigue, and a fever. I’d seen guys play even days after having the flu, and it was hardly ever to their full capacity.
And so, when I’d shown up to practice sick as a fucking dog three days after Disney, Coach had ordered me to see the team doctor. I thought they’d tell me the same as usual — it’s a virus, hydrate and rest and don’t push too hard.
Instead, I’d tested positive for influenza, and I’d been sent home without the option to stay even if I wanted to.
And I did. I needed to stay, to be at practice, to be on the flight to our next away game.
We had twenty games left of the regular season.
Twenty.
In hockey, that might as well have been one.
The race for the playoffs was too fucking tight for me to be out. It was almost impossible for us not to make the playoffs at this point, but these next twenty games could mean the difference in having home ice advantage and top seeds versus being a wildcard.
That’s how close the teams in our division were. That’s how much every game mattered at this point.
I’d thrown a fit when Coach told me to leave. I’d been even more pissed when I missed our away game against Pittsburgh and we lost. It didn’t matter that my backup played great, that it really wasn’t his fault for the L. I still felt the responsibility of it weighing on me.
As it was, I was laid up on the couch on my final rest day, grumpier than I ever had been and scowling at the television as I played the latest episode of Jeopardy.
I had clearance to return tomorrow, as long as I was feeling better. And to be honest, Coach and I both knew that even if I wasn’t feeling better, I’d still be there.
Fortunately, I actually was on the mend, my body aches less severe, fever lowering, cough receding, throat no longer making it feel like I was swallowing razor blades.
I knew I had Chloe to thank.
When I’d been sent home, she’d launched into action like a nurse, forcing me into bed and bringing me everything I could possibly want or need to recover. She’d insisted Chef Patel not come to the house, to prevent her from getting sick, too. That meant Chloe was cooking for us. She’d also taken over completely with Ava, on top of teaching five days a week, and had cleaned the house with disinfectant more in the last few days than I’d ever done in the years I’d lived here.
“The last thing you need is for Ava to get sick next,” she’d warned my first sick day home, wiping down the TV remote with a Lysol wipe.
And I’d tried not to give in to my urge to pull her into me, to thank her with an embrace since my words were fucking broken.
It was such as simple act of care, but the fact that she wanted to keep my daughter well, that she was considerate of Chef, that she so easily stepped up to the plate to handle everything I would have worried about… it was something I’d never take for granted.
But unfortunately for me, Chloe also didn’t want the flu, and she kept her distance — physically, anyway — and made sure to wash her hands thoroughly after any time she came into my vicinity.