Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 95107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
“And you think I like it?” I gape at her. “Look at this thing!” I wave Alexander in front of Grace, who ducks and dodges to avoid his flailing stubby arms.
“I don’t understand,” Tim hedges, reaching for the doll. “This is phenomenal! Look at the craftsmanship.” He admires the doll, while his daughter and I stare at him in horror.
“Goddamn it, Dad,” Grace sighs. “Now he knows your touch.”
“Was this manufactured in Germany?” He continues examining Alexander. “Looks German-made. Nineteenth century?”
“I am very disturbed by your knowledge of antique dolls,” I say frankly. “And we’re not kidding, sir. Put him down before he imprints on you. It’s too late for us—he already knows us. But you still have time to save yourself.”
“From what?”
“He’s haunted,” Grace answers glumly.
I nod. “Sometimes he blinks at you.”
Tim runs his fingers over the movable eyelids. “This mechanism is centuries old. If the eyes are opening and closing of their own volition, it’s likely due to wear and tear.”
“Stop touching him,” Grace pleads.
For real. Does he have a death wish or something? I mean, I know Garrett does, because clearly he wants me to murder him next time I see him. I love Garrett Graham like a brother. He’s my closest friend. He’s a teammate. He’s fucking awesome. But to do this to us on Christmas?
Granted, I did abuse my spare key privileges a few months ago to sneak Alexander into Garrett and his girlfriend’s house for Hannah’s birthday. But still.
“Do you mind if I take photos and try to find the value of it?” Tim asks, the geeky academic in him rearing its head.
“Don’t bother. He cost four grand,” I supply.
His eyebrows shoot up. “Four thousand dollars?”
Grace nods in confirmation. “That’s another reason we can’t throw him out. It feels wrong to throw away that much money.”
“Dean bought him a couple years ago at some antique auction,” I explain. “The listing said he was haunted, so Dean thought it would be hilarious to get the doll for Tuck’s daughter, who was, like, a baby at the time. Sabrina lost her shit, so she waited till Dean and Allie were in town a couple months later and paid off someone at their hotel to leave the doll on Dean’s pillow.”
Grace giggles. “Allie said he screamed like a little girl when he turned on the light and saw Alexander there.”
“And now it’s a thing,” I finish with a half-grin, half-sigh. “Basically, we all ship Alexander to one another when the other person least expects it.”
“What did the seller say about it?” Tim asks curiously. “Does it have a backstory?”
Grace shakes her head. “Dad. Please stop calling him an ‘it.’ He can hear you.”
“He came with some sort of information card,” I answer with a shrug. “Can’t remember who has it now. But basically, his name is Alexander. He belonged to a little kid named Willie who died on the California Trail back in Gold Rush times. Apparently, the entire family starved to death, except for Willie. Poor kid wandered around for days looking for help and eventually fell down a ravine, broke his leg, and lay there until he died of exposure.”
Grace shudders. “They found him clutching Alexander against his chest. The psychotic doll seller said Willie’s spirit went into Alexander right before he died.”
Tim’s eyes widen. “Jeez. That is fucking dark.”
My jaw drops. “Sir. Did you just curse?”
“How could I not?” He sets Alexander back in the box and closes the flaps. “Why don’t we take him up to the attic? Jean and David will be here any minute. We don’t want to expose them to it.”
Nodding decisively, Tim Ivers marches off with the box in hand. I honestly don’t know if he’s serious or just humoring us.
My lips twitch with laughter as I turn to Grace. “There. Alexander’s been banished to the attic. Feel better?”
“Is he still in the house?”
“Well, yeah—”
“Then, no. I don’t feel better.”
Grinning, I grasp her by the waist and pull her toward me. Then I lower my head and brush my lips over hers. “How about now?” I murmur.
“Slightly better,” she amends.
When I kiss her again, she melts against me and loops her arms around my neck. Fuck. I miss this so much when I’m on the road. I knew the pro hockey lifestyle would be tough, but I hadn’t anticipated how much I’d miss Grace every time I had to leave town.
“I hate that you have to leave again,” she says against my lips. Evidently her thoughts are echoing my own.
“Not for a few days,” I remind her.
She bites her lip and presses her cheek against my left pec. “Still not enough time,” she says, so softly I barely hear her.
I breathe in the sweet scent of her hair and hold her closer. She’s right. It’s not nearly enough time.
3
Grace
A few days after Christmas, Logan leaves for a five-day stretch of road games on the West Coast. And of course he does, because conflicting schedules are pretty much a way of life for us now.