Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Periodically, Erik would pull his attention from Blue to me and growl, “Can’t you go any faster?”
To which Blue would say, “Honey… we have plenty of time to get to the hospital.”
And Erik would grumble, make half-assed apologies, and then give his attention back to his wife to offer reassuring words when the next contraction hit.
We pulled up to the front door, and I told Janelle, “Go inside and get a wheelchair.”
She looked at me in surprise that I would entrust her with such an important duty but then scrambled out of her seat belt and was gone in a flash. I got out, went to Blue’s side, and opened the door. Janelle was back very quickly, with not only a wheelchair but a nurse, and Erik and I helped situate Blue into the chair.
The nurse grabbed the handles and started to steer her toward the sliding doors when Blue reached a hand back to me, craning her neck.
I looked down at it and realized she wanted my own hand, and I placed it in hers. She squeezed and said, “Thanks for the ride.”
I nodded and muttered, “Hope you have a good birth.”
And then winced over how awkward that was.
Erik gave a hasty wave goodbye, and they disappeared inside.
And just like that, it was over.
Well, not for Erik and Blue. She could be in for hours of labor, and my heart went out to her for the misery she was about to endure.
I put my car in drive as Janelle asks, “Are we going back to the Christmas party?”
I cut her a quick glance as I pull out onto the street. “Do you want to?”
“Not really,” she says and slumps down in the seat to surf her phone. Sometimes I want to take that damn thing and chuck it out the window, but it’s essential that I have a way to get in touch with her, particularly when I’m traveling for road games. It seems to have become a crutch for her to not have to talk to me, and because our conversations are awkward and stilted half the time, I’ve been letting her keep the crutch.
But not right now. “You mind putting that down a second so we can talk?”
Janelle sighs dramatically and sets her phone facedown on her lap.
She shifts in her seat, and I take my eyes off the road for a second to ensure she’s focused on me.
Giving my attention back to the road, I say, “I was talking to Clarke at the party—”
“Who’s Clarke?” Janelle interrupts.
“Wylde’s girlfriend,” I say.
“Who’s Wylde?” she asks, and I can’t decide if she’s being obtuse.
I shoot her a quick look, but her attention is now out the passenger window. “Aaron Wylde. He’s a defenseman on the first line.” I wait for her to say something, but she doesn’t. “Honestly, how do you not know who he is? You knew all the players when I was with the Renegades.”
Of course, that was back when Janelle lived with our mom, was not under my thumb or rule, and it was cool to have an older brother playing professional hockey. She knew everyone’s names, their positions, and even their statistics. In our phone calls, emails, and texts, I would give her the lowdown on everyone’s wives and girlfriends and other team gossip. I would fly her out to San Diego, and she’d hang with me and my teammates who teased her mercilessly as older brothers do to little sisters.
Janelle has shown little interest in the Arizona Vengeance, and I can’t figure out if she’s picking up cues from me or if she truly doesn’t care about my career anymore. She has no clue that the reason I keep everybody at arm’s length is so that I don’t open our private lives—and by extension, her life in particular—to scrutiny. And I can’t tell her that because I don’t want to embarrass her or for her to feel like I’m embarrassed about our situation.
Because I’m not.
I’m proud we’ve been able to rise above, but I don’t want her to be an oddity to anyone.
I take a deep breath and let it out quietly. “Anyway, Clarke owns a cool bookstore—” Janelle’s head whips my way, and I think it might indicate interest.
But her tone is acerbic when she says, “How would you know? Have you been there?”
I tell myself to have patience with my sister and keep my tone level. “No, I haven’t been there. But I’ve heard Aaron talk about it, as well as some of the other players. At any rate, she’s looking for someone to help out after school for a few hours, and I thought you might want the opportunity.”
Janelle scoffs. “You mean, you want me to do something that’ll keep me out of trouble.”
I grit my teeth. But she’s not completely wrong. My talk with her teacher a few days before they let out for winter break has me concerned. She said Janelle refuses to engage or interact in the classroom.