Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 64238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 321(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 321(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
I winced. “I know. I talked to them yesterday. Sounds like Dad busted up his elbow good.”
“Oh, my God. It was a scene.”
Tara rehashed our dad’s fall from a stepladder at her house over the weekend, where my parents had gone to visit my sister and her family for the holiday. Dad’s idea to help Martin with the outdoor holiday lights had backfired big time. He’d slipped, fractured his arm, and spent an afternoon at the ER. They’d canceled their plan to rent a car and drive to Elmwood to surprise me in favor of getting home for him to see his own doctor.
Wow. I had a feeling I’d narrowly escaped outing myself. Jean-Claude and I had spent all weekend together. If my parents had shown up on my doorstep early in the morning, he would have been here…probably in his boxer briefs. Or I would have been at his house, and how the fuck would I explain to my family what I was beginning to think everyone knew about us anyway?
No one asked outright, but I caught a few curious glances at Thanksgiving dinner at Mrs. Moore’s house. It was our fault. We’d been inseparable all damn day.
When Vinnie and Nolan were called on to do heavy lifting, Jean-Claude introduced me to Nolan’s assorted cousins, aunts, and uncles, whose names I’d never remember. When he’d helped Nolan’s mom in the kitchen, I’d tagged along for sous chef duties. I should have made a better effort to mingle, but I was more aware of time than ever. We had maybe two weeks left till I was back in Seattle, and I wasn’t going to waste a single second.
Like I told my sister, I was on the mend. I had a doctor’s appointment in Burlington later that afternoon, and based on my recent progress, I assumed I was nearing the all-clear sign. In fact, I’d been tempted to postpone the trip today to delay the inevitable, but I didn’t want to let my team down.
The Slammers were in an ugly slump. We’d lost every game on the recent away schedule, eked out one win against the struggling Blackhawks, and got our asses handed to us for the rest of that series. Their mistakes were sophomoric examples of poor passing and slow skating. It was borderline embarrassing.
And the fact that the press had basically written me off as a side note whose only contribution to future news was my impending retirement announcement chafed. I wanted to prove the bastards wrong.
Look, I had no illusions of swooping in and being a savior, but the moment I was okayed to return, I needed to be there for my guys—on the bench, in the locker room, at practices. I had to show my face, be present, be a cheerleader, a sideline coach, or whatever they needed. I certainly couldn’t manufacture excuses to stay in Elmwood…no matter how much I wanted to.
I snapped to attention when my doorbell rang. “Hey, Tara, I gotta run. My buddy is here to drive me to my appointment.”
“Okay, good luck.”
“Thanks, I—”
“Oh! Hang on,” she intercepted just as I was about to disconnect the call. “Will I see you over the holidays?”
“Uh, I don’t know. I’ll try, but I don’t know where I’ll be and I’ve already been gone a long time,” I replied impotently.
“I know. We all miss you. Just…get better, and we’ll figure the rest out.”
“Yeah. Love you, Sis.”
“Love you too, Ri.”
I pocketed my cell, grabbed my jacket, and headed for the door.
The windy roads surrounding Elmwood gave way to a tree-lined ribbon of highway about twenty minutes into the drive to Burlington. Vinnie regaled me with amusing antics of the group of juniors he was coaching in between manic deejay duties.
“Dude, I love this song.” He cranked the volume on fuck-knows-what for the fifth time in less than an hour, furrowing his brow when I smacked his hand.
“You’re giving me a headache, Kimbo,” I grumbled.
He shot an apologetic sideways glance at me. “Shit. Sorry. I wasn’t thinking. How’s your noggin doing?”
“No, no, it’s fine. Seriously. The music was a little loud, that’s all. Let’s just…talk.”
He nodded, eyes focused on the road. I couldn’t gauge his expression from this angle, but his mood so far had been typical Vinnie—relentlessly enthusiastic and upbeat. I figured we’d kill the remaining hour by running our own version of ESPN, giving highlights from every game we’d watched over the past week or something holiday oriented ’cause seemingly everyone wanted to talk about the damn holidays all of a sudden.
But he surprised me.
“We can do that. Tell me what’s going on with you and JC.”
O-kay.
Shit.
I froze…which probably made me look guilty as hell, but I didn’t know what to say. So, I gave one of those phony laughs that never fooled anyone and licked my lips nervously.