Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 119212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Maisie patted his arm. “Callie’s engaged, honey.”
“That’s right. I don’t like that guy.”
“That’s why we don’t bring our kids with us to the games. You start speaking truthfully. It never ends well.”
The two were having their own conversation.
Otis grinned at her, the lines around his mouth soft and his eyes a little glazed. “I do, don’t I?”
“You do. That’s why I love you. One of the many.”
He leaned closer to his wife and whispered loudly, “You’re one in a million, too, sweetie.”
She patted his arm again, beaming back. “I know. You are, too.”
He burped again. “I am, aren’t I?” He finished his beer in one gulp. Putting it back on the table, he blinked a few times. “I gotta piss. Excuse me, ladies.”
Maisie giggled, her face almost beet red from the drinks by now. She slid out and gave her husband a pat on the ass as he bypassed her. He threw her a grin backwards, his hand grazing against hers as he went. They shared another look before Maisie sighed and slid back in the booth. “I’m so lucky that I got to marry that man.”
JJ and I shared a look.
It was sweet, but I knew that wasn’t something I would ever have.
JJ’s look was a little wry as she picked up her second mojito. “That’s not for me. I had a husband. It didn’t work out. I love my corporate world, thank you very much.”
“And you do that. You do what makes you happy.”
As if they were one person, both looked at me.
Maisie’s the one who spoke. “Cheyenne, sweetie. Does Cut make you happy?”
My tongue was heavy.
My stomach was all twisting on the insides.
I had made my decision. Sitting here with them, seeing the love between Maisie and Otis, seeing that JJ was happy being single—I wanted to do what would make me happy, but they didn’t know. They couldn’t understand. Sometimes staying away was simply for them, not yourself.
But it was too hard to explain that, especially in a bar when JJ and Maisie were both two drinks in.
I just grinned, reaching for my water. “Yes, he does.”
Maisie’s eyes got big. “Then go and be with him. Text him. Right now.”
I felt JJ shifting. And I reached down, grabbing my phone just as she was going for it.
It came alive in that instant.
Cut calling.
I swore, at the same time JJ shouted, “The universe just spoke!” She snatched the phone from me, hitting accept, and had the phone to her ear in a split second. “Hi! This is Cheyenne’s friend.” Annnnd she was off and babbling to him. “We sit with her at every game, and we’re at The Way Station right now. Come and get your girl. Right now.” Then she hung up and put my phone in her pocket. “Sorry, dear, but I can read you better than you think. I know it’s an invasion of privacy, but I care about you. We’ve been watching hockey games with you for a long time, and you tried to feed us both some bullshit. The guy called you at the perfect time. If you believe in the Almighty, maybe believe there was a reason for that timing. I’ll give you your phone back when he shows up. Can’t have you calling him to back out or have you running away again now, can we?”
Otis chose that moment to come back. He stood at the end of the table, a rosy glow on his cheeks, and he held his hands up. “What’d I miss?”
23
Cut
We were asked to do random ‘pop ins’ at The Way Station throughout the season. Management had a deal worked out. We got free catering at events. In exchange, we showed up at the bar every now and then. Never long, but enough to be seen. Enough to have our pictures taken.
Because of that rumor, it was always the place for the hockey fans to go after the home games. And because of that, I was surprised Cheyenne would be here, but I donned a baseball cap and headed inside. After the game we had, I knew there was no hope of getting in there (even through the back) and not get recognized so I wasn’t surprised when the first guy did a double-take after I stepped through the door.
“Whaaaat is happening? That’s Cut Ryder!”
He came forward, shook my hand, asked for a selfie.
He was the first in line.
Five minutes in, and there was a good enough crowd that the night manager came to my side. “Cut.” He shook my hand and leaned in. “We didn’t know you’d be coming tonight, or we could’ve been more on top of that.”
I said, leaning close, “I got a friend here. I’m trying to find her.”
He nodded, clapping my back. “Can we help?”
I gave him the description of Cheyenne, and who her seatmates were, or what I remembered about how they looked, and he headed off. “We’ll find her. We’ll get it set up. You want to stay a bit or head out?”