Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Her grin grows. “You do. Jayden Sinclair.”
“I’m sorry, what? He’s the Assassins’ captain.”
She shakes her head. “He’s retiring. Along with his knee injury, he’s having severe migraine issues, too many concussions. But he doesn’t want to leave the game. So, he’s taking over for River.”
“Well, that sucks. He still has great hockey in him.”
She shrugs. “Not everyone is made for long careers, my love.”
Yup, I sure wasn’t. Not that I want to bring that into play here. “Who’s gonna be the new captain?”
She shrugs. “I think it’ll be Aiden. But then people will assume he was chosen because he’s married to Shelli. So then I suggested Boone.”
“But he’s with Posey,” I say, speaking of my other sister and her husband.
“Yeah. And then there is Wes, but he’s with Stella Brooks, Aiden’s sister. So really, people are gonna talk no matter what and completely ignore the leadership skills all three men have.”
“Yup. They always do,” I say, knowing that firsthand. With the write-ups on me, the news coverage has been fifty-fifty. Half supportive and half downright mean. I found myself reading whatever included Owen in it, and then the articles calling me a coward, a sellout, a loser—oh, and a disappointment to the Adler name.
I think I’m a glutton for punishment.
“Lots of changes,” she says, looking around the room. It holds all the medals, trophies, sticks, and pucks that Owen and I have collected over the years. Even Owen’s silver medal from the Olympics is hanging in the middle. He gave it to my mom as a thank-you and said he was gonna win the Cup for my dad.
I promised the same.
That’s going well.
She looks over her shoulder at me, the GM look gone, replaced by the concerned momma look. “How much longer do you think I need to keep Dad at bay?”
I look away, packing some socks so I don’t have to look in her eyes. I always suspected my mom was keeping him from talking to me, but I also assumed he was mad at me. The truth of the matter does make me feel a little better, but not enough to go out there and face the big bad Shea Adler.
See, my dad…well, he is the kind of dad who suffocates you with love. He wasn’t around a lot when we were younger, so once he retired, he overly loved us. I mean, he was superdad. My mom was still supermom, but Dad did everything. Took us to school, games, practices, dances. He didn’t do doctors’ appointments because he said Mom was the boss on that. But he was always there. He encouraged us to talk to him, made us share our thoughts, and helped us work through them. He said he never wanted us to feel alone. With five kids, it’s hard to believe he was so involved with each one of us, but he honestly was.
Even when he was living with Shelli in New York because she was a minor on Broadway, he was on the phone with us. When Quinn went to college in Boston, Dad would go on weekends to be with him and our grandparents. He’s just…fucking awesome.
I love my parents. They’re the best, but we were also raised to fight for what we want, work for our dreams. Our parents would give us the tools, but it was our job to pick them up and use them. I feel like I dropped the tools. Maybe even burned down the toolshed with my mental issues. I know I failed them.
For some reason, facing my mom isn’t embarrassing. I think she would support me even if I chose to do balloon art because she just loves me. I’m her baby. She tells me all the time I’m her favorite. Unlike the other kids, she winks at me to tell me she means it. But my dad, his love is so great, and I don’t feel like I deserve it.
“Can I request something since I’ve cooked for you, given you a place to live rent-free, and suggested you go back to school?”
I smile at her teasing tone. Rent-free? She wouldn’t take my money if I threw it at her. “Sure.”
“Stay tonight. Go to your meeting tomorrow, and I’ll bring all your things in my truck so you don’t have to make so many trips. Come have dinner, play some cribbage, and enjoy us. Let us enjoy you, my love.”
I swallow hard. How do you say no to those green eyes when they’re so kind and hopeful? Full of love? “Okay, Mom.”
“Good,” she says, clapping her hands. “What can I do?”
Together, we pack the rest of my stuff. Benny and Quinn come to help load since Dad is on a phone call. Of course, my mind thinks he’s avoiding me, but even on the call for his charity, he starts carrying boxes. I hate how I do that. I take a little thing and make it into a big something it’s not. I’m working with my therapist on it, and I even call to talk to Angie about it a bit. I’m trying to get my mom to open a mental health center for the Assassins like the IceCats have. Angie’s goal is to have one for all the NHL teams. I think it needs to be a priority. It’s time to put our mental health on the front line.