Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 85711 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85711 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
“It wasn’t an issue,” I answer her honestly. “But I’ll be looking for a house starting tomorrow.” I put my hand on the door handle. “If I know my mother, she has already called my aunt Zoe and is getting some listings sent to her.” She nods her head and opens her door and steps out. I open my own door and wait for her at the back of the car. I see her eyes looking around at all the luxury cars.
“Um?” she asks when she gets next to me. “Are we in the right spot?”
“The elevator is over there,” I say, pointing at the two stainless-steel doors. I put my hand at her lower back as I guide her toward the elevator. When I press the button for up, my heart starts to beat erratically because she still doesn’t know my full name. Or what I do, or who I am. The doors open a second later, and I hold out my hand for her to step into the elevator. I step in right next to her and hold my breath when I press the PH button.
She looks over at me. “Who exactly do you train?” she asks, and I look over at her and take a deep breath.
“I’m not really a trainer,” I say, and she just looks at me, her eyes blinking, and the elevator ride is over so fast she doesn’t get to ask another question.
She shakes her head and steps out of the elevator. “You aren’t really a trainer?” she hisses, not raising her voice, and looks around to see that there is only one door on this floor. “Wow.”
“I didn’t know what to say.” I hold up my hands.
“Here is a shocking piece of advice.” She leans in. “Tell the truth. Good God, are you a trust fund baby?” she asks. “Are you in the mob?”
I chuckle at the last one. “One, I’m not in the mob. Two, I’m not a trust fund baby. I might have a trust fund, but I earn my own money.”
“Great,” she says. “So who exactly are you?”
“Fine.” Ignoring the burning in my stomach, I look into her eyes. “My name is Michael Horton,” I say and wait for it to click in her head. Wait to see it in her eyes that she’s heard of me, wait for anything, but nothing changes.
She just looks at me, waiting for more answers. “Is that name supposed to mean anything to me?” she asks, her eyebrows pulled together.
I let out a huge breath. “I play hockey for the Dallas Oilers,” I reply, and her mouth hangs open. “When we met, I had just gotten traded here.” I wait for her to say something. “It was why I wore a cap out.”
Her mouth opens and closes, and the only thing that comes out is, “You play hockey for the NHL?” She points at me.
“I do,” I confirm. “I’m not the only family member who does. Obviously, Cooper is my cousin, and I have a couple of other cousins who play. My uncles used to play and my father also.”
“Oh my God,” she says, her voice in a whisper as tears start to fill her eyes, big tears that even if she blinks them away, they are still going to escape. “Oh my God.” She gasps out in shock, “Is your father Max Horton?”
I get a little annoyed she’s heard of my father but not me. “Yeah.”
“He was,” she says, the tears just streaming down her face. “He was my father’s favorite player,” she shares and then puts her hand over her mouth when a sob comes out of her. “He used to watch the New York games all the time. He tried to get me to watch it with him, but I wasn’t into it. Julia,” she continues, her voice quivering. “She used to watch with him. It was their thing, and when he passed away, she never watched hockey again.” I walk to her, holding her face in my hands, my thumbs wiping away the new tears that spill onto her cheeks. She smiles through the tears. “He would shit himself if he ever got to meet him.” I don’t know what to say to her, my own tears coming to me with the thought of ever losing my father. She puts her hands on my chest. “I can’t believe this,” she says. She smiles up at me as she tries to blink away the tears. All I can do is look into her eyes, and my head is moving on its own, my lips dying to taste hers and see if it’s like I remember. She licks her lips, seeing me bring my face closer to her, and she closes her eyes. Right before my lips touch hers, the front door swings open.