Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 119680 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119680 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
I huff a laugh. “Well, it wouldn’t make sense to someone like you. And it’s not my parents; it’s mostly my dad.” I cringe. “Fuck. Sorry. That was disrespectful, and that’s not how I meant it.”
A half smile quirks up. “Don’t sweat it. You’re under a lot of stress. Want to have a seat and explain what you mean?” He nods to the bench nearby.
“Sure. Okay.” Saying no to a cop seems like a bad idea.
I fall into step beside him, his strides slow and measured.
“Your dad is a hockey legend,” I note.
“Yup. He sure is.”
“So you grew up comfortable, right? Lots of opportunities?” I shrug off my backpack and drop down on the bench, setting it at my feet.
“I did.” He takes a seat beside me but leaves a foot of space between us.
“You’ve seen my house. It’s the nicest place I’ve ever lived, which is saying something.”
“Lots of people struggle financially.” He crosses his legs, ankle resting on his knee.
“I know. But it’s more than the financial struggle.” What BJ said about not staying inside the box that’s been made for me anymore is starting to make sense. Keeping these dirty family secrets isn’t doing me any good. All it does is tether me to a life I don’t want. “Hockey is expensive, so the money thing is an issue, but more than that, it costs me time, when I don’t have much to spare. My dad thinks I should be working more instead of playing so I can help with the household expenses.”
Logan shifts and rests his arm on the back of the bench. “Aren’t you doing that with your job at Boones?”
“Yeah, but playing hockey means I’m not home to do the chores, like cut the grass, or make dinner, or make sure the garbage is taken care of and the house is clean. And in his eyes, hanging out with BJ is another way I’m shirking my responsibilities. Plus, he lives on the nice side of the lake.”
“So do you,” he points out.
“Yeah, but the cabin is falling apart. Hanging out with BJ and his friends, playing for the Hockey Academy, to my dad, it’s me striving for something I shouldn’t. He thinks I should be happy with what I have. And the worst part is, I get where he’s coming from, even though I don’t want to.”
Logan frowns. “Can you explain that?”
“We got into a fight yesterday when I came home with stitches in my face.” I motion to my chin. “A visit to the hospital is an expense we normally avoid. I tried to tell him it was covered by the hockey program, but he just…lost his shit. Accused me of…” I tip my head up and focus on a fluffy cloud floating in the sky, gritting my teeth against the prick behind my eyes.
“You’re a useless fucking whore. You think that boy likes you? He knows you’re easy. Gonna treat you like the trash you are. Just you wait and see.”
“Mostly he was looking for a reason to fight, and he wanted someone to take his frustration out on, and that person is usually me or my mom. Playing for the women’s team is a dream come true. BJ and your sister Lovey and Rose are all great. Everyone has been so nice, and it’s hard to be part of that and then go back to the arguing. To see the other side is one thing, but to live in it…” I sigh and shake my head. “It makes me want to keep it.”
He shakes his head. “You’re talking like that’s not possible.”
I give him a look. “Come on, Officer Butterson.”
“Just call me Logan.”
“Okay, Officer Logan, even if things go great this summer and playing for the women’s team opens doors, how will I walk through them? My mom won’t be able to work for weeks, maybe even months, because of her injuries. She’s got pins and plates in her leg and her arm. She’s suffered a concussion, so who even knows what the lasting damage of that will be. Logically, working at the diner is probably out after this. It’s too physically demanding. And she doesn’t have her high school diploma. Neither of my parents does. So what kind of job can she get? She only qualifies for minimum-wage work, and her tips were a big part of how we got by, because at least we could hide some of them from my dad so he wouldn’t blow everything on fucking beer and smokes.” I raise a hand. “Sorry about the swearing.”
“No apology needed. I’d be pissed too if the fridge was bare, and the garbage was full of death darts and empties.”
“It’s just so frustrating. And she’s gonna need so much support when she gets out of the hospital. How will I work and take care of her, let alone make time for hockey or school or anything else? You see what I mean, right? How uphill this battle is? How hard it is to have all these great people trying to make things happen for me, and it’s just one barricade after another.”