Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 128069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Oof. It’s getting heavier. “Dude. Can you not hold these?”
“Dude. Are you not strong enough?”
Fighting words. I hoist the books higher. “I can carry them all, dickhead.”
“Language,” Max chides. “You’re in the children’s section.”
“No one’s here yet,” I point out since it’s early and the store just opened.
“But you’re a good guy, Bryant. Be one all the time, even in the kiddy section,” Max deadpans, and he makes a fair point—one I’ll use very shortly.
“Anyway, what was your question, Lambert?” I say to Max as I weave past a tiny castle filled with beanbags and head toward the front of the store. I already left a huge stack at the counter earlier.
“Can you record it for us? The whole interaction with Winters? I feel like it would be really great for team morale.”
I roll my eyes while Asher jumps in, saying, “Not a bad idea. We might want to look at it when we review video.” He pauses, like he’s deep in thought, then holds his hands out wide. “How to handle the puck you didn’t see coming.”
I groan. “You did not actually make the world’s worst pun.”
Asher flashes me a grin. “I did.”
We arrive at the counter where I buy several boxes of kid books, then wait as a man behind the counter gift wraps a small handful for me.
The woman who rang me up smiles. Her name is Trina, and she’s a fixture at Sea Dogs games. “So glad Ryker told you to shop here,” she says with a smile.
“As if we’d shop anyplace else,” Asher says.
“Except Once Upon a Good Time,” she points out helpfully. “That’s my romance-only bookstore. But I still work here from time to time too. I guess I’m just a ‘why choose’ girlie with bookstores,” she says with a knowing smile. Trina’s married to two of our teammates—Ryker and also Chase. It’s unconventional, but it works for them.
“And I’ll be sure to stop there when I need something new to read,” Asher says.
“You read romance?” Max asks with a dubious arch of his brow.
“Don’t you wish you knew?” Asher retorts.
Max grumbles, “Actually I don’t need to know.”
We thank Trina and leave. My friends do help carry boxes, though, since we have a big haul. My car’s parked at the curb, so we set the boxes of books in the backseat, along with the stack of wrapped ones.
I take a breath then check my texts, confirming Christian’s address. I messaged him this morning and said I need to stop by to chat with him before morning skate in an hour or so.
I give a tip of the hat to the guys. “Pick you up in thirty at Doctor Insomnia’s?”
“Unless we need to pick you up in a body bag,” Max deadpans.
“We’ll get you a nice body bag, Bryant,” Asher says.
No more Newman, no Muffin Man, and no Poker Face. I’ll take just Bryant. “No body bag, thanks.”
I say goodbye then hop in my car. Before I turn it on, I send Josie a text.
Wesley: I’m on my way.
Then I add a heart, because I know it’ll make her happy.
Josie: Don’t worry about me. I’m totally not glued to my phone waiting for an update while I’m worried to five million pieces about you.
But I’m not worried. When I first met Josie, my entire life was prescribed by what I do for a living. I’m not just a guy who plays hockey.
I’m a guy who has dessert for breakfast sometimes. Who knows how to sit with discomfort. Who cares about his friends and also his teammates.
And I’m a great teammate. Part of being a great teammate is communicating. Even when it’s hard. Sometimes it’s telling a guy you play with that he needs to cool off. Sometimes it’s telling the goalie he’ll have a better game next time. And sometimes it’s telling the captain how you feel about his sister.
I send her one more text.
Wesley: And you don’t have to worry about me. I’ve got this.
I drive to Christian’s home on California Street, park, and grab the wrapped books.
I bound up the steps, take a deep fueling breath, and ring the bell. I wait but not impatiently. I’m simply ready. After twenty or so seconds, Christian comes to the door, swings it open, and says, “Hey.”
It’s friendly but also comes with a question baked in. That’s understandable. No doubt he’s curious as to why I wanted to meet with him.
I nod toward the inside of his house. “Can I come in?”
“Yeah, of course.”
I head into the foyer, glancing down at his socked feet. I toe off my shoes. When in Rome and all…
I follow him into the living room that boasts a stunning view of the Golden Gate Bridge. He gestures to the couch.
I hand him the stack of wrapped books, then sit. “I realize I never got you a gift when you had your twins. These were my favorite books growing up. My parents read them to me over and over. It’s a pretty good series.”